


two is better than one

by aac7



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin AU, Byleth is Very Sassy, Byleth is Worse at Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is Bad at Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, She is Definitely the Ashen Demon Here, bcs why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: After a considerably terrible day, an assassin and a government agent walk into a bar. Both are a little angry.Nothing goes according to plan.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 25
Kudos: 68





	1. Temporary Leave

_22nd of the Blue Sea Moon, 14:05_

_Central Fódlan, Church District_

____________

“A _psych_ eval? Dad, come on, just give me the stuff on Kronya. You promised that it would be mine after I closed any open assignments.” Byleth holds her hand out for the new file, but her palm remains empty.

Jeralt doesn’t look up from reading her latest report, and doesn’t move to hand her the contract sitting on his desk. “It’s just a few questions, nothing too serious.”

Nothing is ever _not_ serious when it comes to Jeralt Eisner. “Still. Are you kidding me?”

This time he does look up, a flat look on his face. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“You look like you’re constipated.” 

Jeralt sighs deeply, massaging his temples. “Byleth, please. I’m being serious.” 

Byleth shrugs. “So am I. Have you tried giving up dairy for a while? I would suggest alcohol, but we both know that isn’t possible,” she says, not-so-secretly nodding towards his bookshelf. They both know that a well-loved wooden flask hides behind the _Encyclopedia of Fódlan’s Insects._

“You’re really annoying, you know that?”

She reaches out and slaps the surface of his desk twice, smiling at him with every ounce of saccharine sweetness she can dredge up. “I learned from the best, old man.” 

Her father stares at her with that exasperated look of his, daring her to say more. Byleth stares back, wholly unimpressed. It wasn’t the first time she’d been on the receiving end of that look, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Stop deflecting.” 

“I was not,” she gasps, shocked by such an allegation.

“Do you even remember what we were talking about before?” 

She pulls a thinking face, finger tapping her chin. “Hm. I do recall you saying something about wasting important clinical resources to order an unnecessary psychological evaluation,” she hums disinterestedly, picking at some of the dried blood underneath her nails. Her father hadn’t even allowed her to return to her apartment after she’d returned from her assignment, so she hadn’t had a chance to wash up. She already knew that the blood caked into her ponytail would be an issue. Maybe tonight she would do a deep condition. “Dad, for the last time I don’t need—”

“Interview first, file later,” he deadpans, making her grumble as he looks over her shoulder. “Seteth?”

The door creaks open behind her. Typical of her father to have an ambush prepared before she could make an escape. Byleth rolls her eyes, slumping back in her chair. She didn’t have any qualms with the man entering the room, just with what he was here to do. 

A higher up in their organization, and second only to Lady Rhea, Seteth oversaw the states of all their operatives. One note from him put you in the field or tied you to a desk. He was quite literally the judge, jury, and executioner. Byleth would rather die than sit at a desk all day

Seteth doesn’t smile as he settles himself next to her father, his back against the bookcase. He sets a plate of biscuits on the desk. The biscuits are fish shaped, no doubt a recent creation by Flayn. Seteth slides the plate towards her, a small offering. He has his notebook in hand and his reading glasses settled low on the bridge of his nose. “Miss Eisner,” he begins, uncapping his pen. “Are you aware as to why I am here?”

“My boss thinks I’m crazy.”

Never one for her sarcasm, Seteth joins Jeralt in shooting her a tired look. “You are aware of the procedure, truthful answers only please. Preferably without that wit of yours.”

She hums in reply, fingers tapping the armrests of her chair as she looks between Seteth and her father, waiting. 

“How do you feel about the people you work for?”

Byleth’s eyes flick over her father, who doubled as her handler. He assigned her cases and received her reports. “I respect their decisions.” He was also the one who requested her psych evaluation. “Mostly.”

“Do you have any interest in why you are asked to do what you do? Or who you do it to?

Byleth tilts her head from side to side a few times, considering this. Upon receiving a file, she skimmed over the necessary details. Places they frequented, allergies, pre-existing medical conditions. Anything she could use to get the job done. Very rarely did she care about what they had done to be put in the Church’s crosshairs. It was better not to know, and not to let personal bias or _feelings_ affect her work. Emotion meant hesitation, and hesitation meant not doing her job. Emotion was every assassin’s enemy. “Not especially.”

Seteth writes something down in that elegant, sweeping penmanship of his. “It appears there have been some concerns in regards to your state of mind. Have you experienced any anxiety or stress as of late?”

“Well, my period was late last month,” she answers after a moment of contemplation. “That made me kind of nervous.”

Seteth sets his pen to the paper, looking up at her. “Could you elaborate on how that may have brought on feelings of anxiety? Hormone imbalance perhaps? Late cycles are typically linked to unusually high amounts of stress in the body. Have you encountered anything physically or emotionally stressful as of late?”

Byleth shakes her head. “Nothing like that. I just thought I might be pregnant,” she says. “Which I guess was weird of me to think because at that point I hadn’t had sex in almost two months.” She bites her lip to keep from laughing when Seteth coughs, seemingly choking on his tongue. Jeralt _glares_ at her, making a discreet throat cutting motion that only makes her want to laugh more. “You told me to answer truthfully.”

Seteth clears his throat, sucking in a shaky breath. It was all too easy to unsettle him. “I...appreciate your honesty, Miss Eisner. Now, when was the last time you worked?”

Byleth cuts him a glare that asks ‘ _seriously’_ and gestures down to her bloodied clothes. “Two hours ago.”

He scribbles something down. “Was the mission successful? What means did you take to complete it?”

With the most recorded kills on the monastery roster, did he really have to ask? “Obviously. While he was talking I shot him in the heart.”

Jeralt and Seteth share a look. “You talked to him? What did he talk about?”

“Money. His family.” 

Byleth watches as he makes another note. “How did that make you feel?”

Memories from just hours prior flash through her mind. 

  
  


_Her mark is nearly two feet taller than her and had at least a fifty pound advantage, catching her off guard with sloppy but incredibly effective heavy-hitting punches. She leaps back to narrowly avoid a jab at her abdomen, allowing her the time and space to assess his next move. It would take a lot to bring a man of his size down. Byleth would’ve preferred a bullet, but she’d dropped her gun at some point so that was no longer an option. She’s allowed not a second longer to collect her thoughts, because the man rips the computer monitor from his desk, stomping towards her._

_Byleth has always been smaller than her opponents, but has long known how to twist her weaknesses to her advantage. He’s raising the monitor now, and with the wall behind her, there’s nowhere to run. Letting instinct take over she aims low, dropping to a knee and grasping the knife strapped to her thigh as the computer monitor swings above her head. With her right fist tightly gripping the handle of her blade, she brings the knife up from her slide and slashes through the man’s femoral artery, blood spewing from the wound, but she turns in time to avoid the worst of it._

_Droplets of blood — both hers and his — trickle down from her forehead, matted in her bangs. As the man screams, dropping the monitor and attempting to staunch the flow of blood with his hand. Byleth scrambles across the floor to reclaim her gun, checking her clip before turning back to see him staggering away, leaving a trail of blood behind him._

_Byleth uses the back of her glove to wipe blood out of her eyes and grins. It’s been a while since a mark has fought back._

_The blood flowing through her veins hums as she follows the man through the empty office building. She clasps her hands behind her back, whistling as she sidesteps through the crowded pen of cubicles and dodges the miscellaneous office supplies being thrown back at her. A cup of pencils, a keyboard. All the while he’s crying, begging for his life and all Byleth can think about is how increasingly agitated she’s getting. She leans back against one of the desks and watches as his hobbling ceases and he grasps a desk chair, struggling to keep upright. Byleth idly twists the silencer on her pistol as she waits for him to give up._

_He finally does, slumping to the ground and into a growing pool of his own blood. He’ll probably bleed out in the next few minutes, so she doesn’t really have to stick around to finish him off._

_But she wants to. He did throw a keyboard at her._

_“Please,” he rasps, holding a hand up in surrender, as if the barrier of flesh and bone could stop a lead bullet. “I have a family, people waiting for me at home.”_

_His pleas fall on deaf ears as Byleth twists one last time, hearing the soft click and taking aim. All it takes is a twitch of her finger._

_“I can give you money,” he tries again. This man, who previously towered over her, now reduced to a shaking, sobbing, begging, bleeding mess. Entirely at her mercy. “However much you want.”_

_Byleth scoffs, her aim not wavering. “I already have a lot of money.” She’s imagining the six figures that will be transferred into her account as soon as she’s done here._

_He drops his hand into his lap, wheezing. “Why are you doing—”_

_She fires once. “I don’t know,” she answers, even though he can no longer hear it._

  
  


“Miss Eisner?”

Byleth blinks a few times, brought back to the present. Jeralt watches her with that universal look of parental concern slash disappointment in his eye. 

“Impatient,” she decides, cracking her knuckles a few times. “Annoyed. I just wanted to get out of there.” 

Jeralt leans back in his chair, brows furrowed as he scrutinizes her. Byleth isn’t sure why he was suddenly so concerned. “Why?” Seteth asks.

“The blood,” she says. 

“What about it?” Her father questions this time and for some reason, Byleth thinks he looks _hopeful._

She gestures down at her clothes. “Do you know how hard it is to get dried blood stains out of leather? And my hair, good goddess. Ugh, it’s all matted and gross now,” she grunts, flicking clumped strands of her bloodstained teal bangs. Yes, a deep condition would definitely be necessary after tonight. 

Jeralt shuts his eyes as Seteth sighs loudly, shutting his notebook. “I think I have heard all that is necessary.” He pauses, looking between them both. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic. “She is fine, Jeralt.” 

“Thank you,” Byleth drawls, clasping her hands together in thanks. “I told you so,” she sing-songs, rising to her feet. “You can just send the contract to my apartment. I have an episode of the Great Fódlan Bakeoff waiting for me at home, and bubble bath with my name on it.” She’s about to head out the door when her father stops her.

“Sit back down,” Jeralt instructs, and while Byleth does not sit, she does stop with her hand on the doorknob, turning to see him whispering in Seteth’s ear. Since when were they such gossip girls? 

Seteth sets his notebook on the table, folding his hands overtop of it. “I will not be signing you off today,” he says and beside him, Jeralt nods. Irritation began to prick at her, slowly creeping up her chest as she processed his words.

“You said that when I got back you would let me go after that bitch, Kronya,” Byleth argues, pointing an accusatory finger at her father as she glares at the two men in front of her. “She shot you, Dad. I swore I would be the one to put a bullet between her eyes.”

“That’s beside the point,” Jeralt waves off as if he hadn’t almost died via GSW to the chest just last month. “You need to take a break.” 

“I don’t need to take a break,” she insists. “I need to kill her. Now.” 

“And you will...eventually,” Jeralt says slowly, wringing his hands together in front of him. “Look, we just need some time to figure out who she’s after next. Lay low for a month and relax. Do some self-reflecting, or whatever Manuela said during her self-care seminar. Try picking up a new hobby. You like to knit, don’t you?” 

Byleth thinks back to last week, recalling Manuela’s hungover rambling about how to deal with breakups. That was a seminar? “No,” she refuses stubbornly. “I will not sit at home twiddling my thumbs while she goes around murdering people. Plus it’s the middle of summer and the only thing I know how to knit is a scarf! Who even needs a scarf right now?” She looks to Seteth for help, who looks less than enthusiastic to get involved in their familial squabble.

“If you do not wish to sit idly at home then I would be more than happy to assign you a desk and have you assist Flayn with administrative duties,” he offers, bringing a deep scowl upon her face. The only thing Byleth hated more than the infuriating complacency of hobbies was the mindless stagnancy of paperwork. 

“Like hell I’m going to—”

“Seteth,” Jeralt interrupts, “could you give us a moment?” 

“Of course,” he nods, tucking his notebook under his arm and heading towards the door. “Happy knitting, Miss Eisner,” he calls behind him before Byleth kicks the door shut, cursing him under her breath. 

“I’m worried about you, Byleth,” her father murmurs. “We’ve been putting too much on you lately. It’s made you...cold. Detached, even.” 

“You’re the one who says that assassins can’t have emotions,” she reminds him. It’d been one of the earliest lessons he’d taught her.

“No,” he says slowly. “I told you that assassins have to be able to _control_ their emotions, not abandon them completely.”

“What’s the difference? Either way gets the job done, and I _want_ to do this job,” she huffs indignantly. “By the way, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not a child who needs protecting anymore, I’m fine. You get Seteth back in here and tell him that so he can sign those damn papers.” 

“You’re my kid. It’s my job to worry about you.” 

“No, you’re my handler. It’s your job to give me assignments,” Byleth challenges, reaching for the closed folder. It barely escapes her grasp as Jeralt slides it into his lap. 

“No. Go home, Byleth.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Well can’t I—”

“No.” 

Byleth wants to tear her hair out and scream. What was his problem? “You want me to just go home, sit on my ass and let my muscles wither?” she sneers. “Or overindulge in sweets until I can’t fit into my jeans? I’ll just start right now.” To prove her point, she snatches a cookie off the plate and bites the head of the fish off, confused but pleasantly surprised by the sweet vanilla cream sandwiched between perfectly baked biscuits. There’s no way Flayn could have made it. 

“Yeah. You can use your money to buy bigger jeans,” Jeralt chuckles, shoving the file into his desk drawer. 

Byleth rolls her eyes, grabbing another cookie off the plate and spinning on her heel, fully prepared to make her dramatic exit. “Fine,” she grunts. “But just so you know, I’m going to go home and knit you a yellow scarf because I know that yellow is totally not your colour,” she spits with all the venom she can muster. When he laughs at her, she plucks the plate of cookies off his desk. “These are fucking delicious and I’m not letting you have any,” she mutters before storming out for real this time. 

  
  


__________

  
  


After a rather angry shower, Byleth finds herself in the gym with her colleagues. Her father may be able to keep her off the field, but he can’t keep her from training.

“So you’re on suspension?” Catherine asks again as Byleth taps out of her hold. She’s grateful to feel the oxygen rush back to her brain as she coughs, sprawling out on the training mats. She really shouldn’t have agreed to train after eating all those cookies.

“Temporary leave,” she corrects for the third time that evening, pushing herself up onto her elbows, rubbing her throat with one hand. “Under the guise of mental health reasons.”

Across from her, Catherine sits cross-legged on the mat, an amused grin on her face. “Mental health, huh? What’d you do, Eisner? Get too creative about one of your kills?”

Byleth narrows her eyes. “No, apparently I’m too ‘cold’ and ‘detached,’” she mocks in her father’s stern tone. “What does he expect me to do? Sob like a baby every time I kill someone? It’s absolutely ridiculous.” 

“No, but that’d be fun to watch.” Byleth doesn’t have to turn her head to know it’s Shamir, who claims a spot beside Catherine. “What’s this about you being suspended?”

“Temporary leave,” Byleth deadpans, the words like acid on her tongue as she repeats them for the fourth time that evening. “If anyone asks me again, I’m making sure they’re put on leave too, but for medical reasons."

“Byleth!” A bubbly voice calls. The three women turn to see Flayn skipping into the gym, a small stack of files clutched to her chest. “Jeralt said that you took all the cookies I baked! How were they?”

“They were good,” she confirms. “They tasted like normal cookies.” When it came to Flayn’s baking, the bar wasn’t set awfully high.

Flayn plops down onto the floor beside her, inserting herself into their little group. “That’s wonderful! I shall make more for you to indulge in while you are on leave!”

Catherine and Shamir wince, and Byleth scowls. “Great, thanks,” she grits.

“Now that you have some down time, you should go out and take a break,” Catherine suggests with a wink. “Truth is, it would do you some good to blow off some steam.”

“I take plenty of breaks,” Byleth says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Between assignments, she spent her time doing as she pleased. Time off was spent engaging in an alternating schedule of sleep, binging tv shows, and eating until she trudged back to headquarters to beg her father for work.

Catherine shakes her head. “Well when I said ‘break’ I meant sex. When was the last time you’ve gotten laid?”

“Oh my…” Flayn gasps lightly, and Byleth can practically feel the heat radiating off her crimson cheeks.

Beside her, Shamir rolls her eyes. “You’re about as subtle as a gun, so I’m pretty sure she knew what you meant.”

“I did,” Byleth nods, tilting her head towards their blushing companion. “Read the room, Cat. You can’t talk about s-e-x in front of f-l-a-y-n.”

In a move that catches her by surprise, Flayn smacks her arm with a small stack of papers. “How old do you think I am? I am old enough to know that you just spelled sex...ual intercourse,” she mumbles quietly, somehow turning even more red. 

Catherine gestures proudly to Flayn. “See? Flayn is a big girl, so answer the question, Eisner. When was the last time you did the naked tango with a gentleman lover?”

Shamir groans and hangs her head between her knees, no doubt questioning her partnership with this woman. Flayn hides her face in her hands, and Byleth rolls her eyes. “Good goddess, who are you and what language are you speaking?” 

“Come on, answer the question,” Catherine laughs, chucking a fingerless glove in her direction. Byleth dodges it with ease, letting it fall somewhere behind her. She’s about to let an excuse roll off her tongue when Flayn cuts in. 

“I do believe it would be in your best interest to answer, Byleth,” she hums casually. “Since you are on temporary leave for mental health reasons, I should tell you that there is very good data correlating healthy sexual activity with many positive psychological and physiological health benefits.” 

Byleth, Catherine, and Shamir all stare at the girl with the bobbing green curls, mouths partially hanging open in shock. “How would you even know that? Doesn’t Seteth keep you under a rock?” Shamir questions, making Byleth snort.

“I read pamphlets,” Flayn clarifies proudly. Byleth vaguely recalls seeing them outside of Manuela’s infirmary. “So get on with it!” 

“Alright fine,” she concedes with a slight shake of her head. “Shamir, do you remember when I went to Derdriu with you? When you asked me to distract the duke?”

Shamir gives a curt nod. “Yeah, you kept Claude busy for-” her eyes widened with realization, and she covers her mouth with her hand as she gasps. “Oh shit, _him?_ I mean, wow, but Byleth, that was four months ago.” 

Byleth runs her tongue over her bottom lip, trying hard to hide her smile. “What? He was there, I was there, he offered, I accepted. It was...good.” It was better than good, but she didn’t want to blaspheme upon young Flayn’s ears, lest Seteth cut her tongue out.

Catherine’s mouth somehow hangs open even wider. “The last guy you banged was the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance? If those are the standards you set it’s no wonder you haven’t gotten any in four months.” 

“Claude von Riegan is a pleasant man to look at,” Flayn pipes up, adoration sparkling in her eyes. “I imagine that any sexual encounter with him would prove satisfactory in the long-term.”

Byleth works hard to choke down her laughter as she, Catherine, and Shamir exchange surprised glances. Now there was something she’d never thought she’d hear. 

“While I will admit that von Riegan is quite the catch, you’re still pretty tightly wound. Four months can do that to a woman,” Catherine presses on, ignoring Byleth’s defeated sigh. She’ll never drop it anyways. “Goddess, you need to get out of here and go to a bar- and not that beat up old brewery that smells like cat piss and cheap beer. The only guys you’ll catch there are named tetanus and gonorrhea,” she lists off on her pointer and middle fingers. Catherine scoots over and throws an arm over her shoulders, squeezing her into a one armed hug. “No, babe, you need to go to that swanky rooftop bar downtown— Shamir, what was it called again?” She asks loudly, snapping her fingers a few times as she tries to remember.

The sniper shoots her partner an unimpressed look, slowly pushing her hand down and out of her face. “The Star Terrace.” She shifts her gaze to Byleth. “If men like von Riegan are your cup of tea, then that’s where you go.” 

Catherine nods enthusiastically. “It’s where all the fancy people with the boring office jobs get their fill,” she explains. Byleth has been there before. It was an upscale place that played that was all dark tones and smooth seductive jazz. She knew the types of men and women that frequented that bar, sipping on unnecessarily expensive cocktails in an attempt to escape the realities of predictable, dull lives. Husbands with suspicious tan lines on ringless fingers, vengeful wives wielding their husbands’ credit cards as they gossip in the spotless marble bathrooms that overpowered one’s senses with a strong combo of rose and sandalwood. Byleth was all too familiar with those bathrooms. She’s killed many high profile clients inside of them, after all. 

“It’s the perfect place to find a decent-ish gentleman who can knock you against your headboard until you see the goddess!” Byleth hadn’t even realized Catherine was still talking.

“Do you hear yourself when you talk?” Sharmir frowns, ducking away when Catherine tries to latch onto her. 

“Hey,” the blonde pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s like Flayn said. Bang a dude, your mental health goes up, then you tell daddy dearest and you get that contract to kill Kronya.” 

“That isn’t exactly what I said…” Flayn tries to correct. 

“Let me get this straight,” Byleth sighs, rubbing her temples in the same way her father does when speaking with her. “You want me to go out, bang some rando from a bar, and then _tell my dad?_ ” Byleth pauses, thinking for a moment. Honestly, if it got her the contract…

“Look,” Shamir starts, getting up to sweep the dust off her pants. “Your dad’s problem is your lack of emotion, right?” How Shamir knows this, Byleth doesn’t bother asking. “All he’s asking by making you take a break is that you go out there and feel something real.” 

“What better thing to feel than a mind-blowing orgasm?” Catherine chimes in, making Flayn blush yet again.

“Feel something real,” Byleth mutters as she watches her three friends saunter out of the gym. Feelings were a liability. It meant paranoia and fear, seeing shapes and hearing noises in the empty darkness. It led to misguided decision making and clouded judgement, allowing yourself to be emotionally swayed and taken advantage of. No, she didn’t need that to be good at her job.

She felt other things anyways. Pure bliss as she sprawled out on sheets woven from the finest Almyran silks that money could buy. That hum of content when she indulged in the finest Adrestian cuisine. The excitement that coursed through her veins as she closed in for a kill, awakening every cell in her body like a jolt of electricity. The annoyance that throbbed in her forehead on the rare occasion that she missed a shot, her stomach dropping as she cursed. 

Byleth stands abruptly, snatching her jacket nearby and swiftly exiting the gym. Another thing she liked to feel was the keen burn of whiskey on her tongue and throat, tuning down her thoughts as she breathed the deep fragrance that only years in an oak barrel could achieve. Alcohol, the elixir of all life. 

Maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt.

  
  


**__________**

  
  


_22nd of the Blue Sea Moon, 20:25_

_Central Fódlan, Business District_

__________

Felix didn’t like taking part in murder investigations. It wasn’t that the blood made him queasy or that the glazed-eyed corpses creeped him out. There were too many people packed into spaces that were too small, crowding his personal space. Chatter hit his ears from every direction, making him feel distracted and disoriented. His job as a Lionguard was to defend and protect his king, to fight so he may live another day. It was not to look into a civilian death in another part of the continent.

But Felix did what he was told, and went wherever his father sent him. He may not like murder investigations, but he did like getting paid.

“I never really liked Kleiman,” Felix mutters, crouching over the bloodied corpse. “But damn, what a way to go.” Dying in a puddle of one’s own blood must be far from ideal, and frankly a little disgusting. Blood stuck to everything, and it was a bitch to clean up.

“Cause of death was ultimately the bullet to the heart. Looks like it blew right through the aorta,” Annette, the Fhirdiad P.D’s forensic scientist, says as her gloved finger points at the hole in the deceased businessman’s chest. “But due to the injury sustained on the femoral artery minutes before, it looks like he lost about five pints of blood walking from his office to here,” she adds, gesturing to the heavy trail of bloody footprints from the main office to his final resting place. “Then he lost the rest of it post-mortem.”

Ingrid hums thoughtfully, foot tapping the ground rapidly as she thinks. Felix has seen that look enough times to know that she was irritated. He was guessing it had to do with the lack of a particular redheaded co-worker of theirs. “Did you or the CFPD lift anything before we got here?” Ingrid questions behind him, her notepad flipped open. “Anything that might point to whoever did this?” 

“Nothing,” Annette sighs deeply, hands on her hips as she looks down at the corpse. “Nada, zip, zero, zilch. The CFPD combed the whole floor twice, and they didn’t find anything that looked like it belonged to the assailant. Cameras in the entire building have conveniently been out since noon, and security guards were found drugged unconscious and locked in a supply closet.”

“Do you know how they were drugged?” Felix asks awkwardly as Annette snaps a few more photos of the scene. As a man of action, Felix felt a little out of place during these investigations. It was easier when the assailant was physically in front of him, and all he had to do was act. Investigative work was tedious. Combing crime scenes to find a single hair, waiting for lab reports and test results, staring at unmoving bodies all day. While he acknowledged that it was important work, it just wasn’t what he was good at.

“My best guess is that the killer used some kind of liquid anesthetic, probably administered to the coffee they drank this morning - CFPD has people questioning the workers at the coffeeshop already. If it was tampered with, it would have been before it made it into the building. But I’ll know more once I get their tox reports,” Annette answers quickly. Felix catches the hardened look in her blue eyes as they sweep the scene, noticing that they aren’t as bright as usual. 

“Did you get a chance to talk to the guards?” He asks. In Central Fódlan, Lionguard didn’t have the same level of clearance to interview witnesses and depended solely on the reports of the CFPD. Here, they were visitors with virtually no authority.

Annette shakes her head. “No, but I did talk to Cyril, one of the detectives. He said that a woman bumped into the head of security before work this morning, and made him spill his coffee. She offered to buy him new ones and run them to the building so he wouldn’t be late for work.”

Now Felix was no detective, but he knew how to put two and two together, and judging from the worried look on Annette’s face, she’d drawn the same easy conclusion as he did. 

“What was Kleiman doing here anyways?” She mumbles, reviewing the photos on her camera. “His main office is up in his territory.” 

“We’re not sure,” Ingrid shrugs. “He entered the Central Fodlan area four days ago, and was supposed to be on a flight home yesterday at eight in the morning.” 

“Well, he couldn’t have been killed yesterday,” Annette frowns, gesturing at the body. “He’s only been here about 8 hours give or take a few minutes.” 

“He meant to stay,” Felix concludes. “But why?” 

“Beats me. It’s way too hot here.” Annette muses. “I’m gonna talk to their people in the lab, see if they managed to lift any new fingerprints.” 

Felix stands alone with Ingrid, whose face is pinched in a sour expression. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

Ingrid squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “That Kleiman's assistant was murdered just a month ago? Yeah.” 

“It’s suspicious, isn’t it? That after snitching on his boss’s involvement in Duscur that they both end up dead?” Said assistant had approached the police with a confession in regards to his boss’ involvement in orchestrating the infamous assassination that had killed their king, and nearly killed Dimitri as well. It’d...also killed his older brother, Glenn. 

The confession hadn’t been enough to nail Kleiman to the wall and charge him with conspiracy, so the police had placed the man in witness protection, with the prosecution intent on using him to build their case. Only for him to turn up dead three weeks later, with his boss joining him on the highway to hell a month later.

“Felix, do not do this now,” Ingrid whispers harshly. Glenn had also been Ingrid’s fiance, and any mention of the Tragedy in her presence was met with heavy disapproval. “We’re just supposed to assess the threat level, write up a report, and leave,” she reminds him for the third time since their jet had touched down. 

Ingrid, Sylvain, and himself served in Dimitri’s Lionguard. A group of elite soldiers who served as their king’s shields, overseen by one Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, otherwise known as the great Shield of Faerghus. It was the tackiest moniker, and perfect for the most insufferable man in Felix’s life. With Dimitri’s attendance at the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth coming up in a few days, they’d been sent to assess the situation in Central Fódlan, where the Rite was scheduled to take place. It seemed that there were few places in Fódlan where Dimitri was safe these days. 

“We’re just going to let whoever did this get away with it?” He retorts, ignoring Ingrid’s glare at his retaliation. Just because she was his supervisor didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. “So when Dimitri gets here for the Rite, they can circle back and finish off the rest of the Blaiddyd line?”

Felix has really done it this time, because Ingrid’s green eyes are ablaze with the wrath of the Four Apostles, tightly balled fist shaking as she raises it. He almost wants her to punch him, because that’ll make today much more interesting.

Alas, she doesn’t get the chance to deck him because Sylvain chooses to stroll up to them, tray of coffees in his hand. “Iced coffee for you,” he says, handing the sweating cup to Ingrid. Felix is surprised when she doesn’t throw it in either of their faces. Himself for talking back, or Sylvain for being late. “Black coffee for your dark, untrusting soul,” he teases, handing Felix his cup. “Now where’s Annie? I have an iced tea here—”

Ingrid grabs him by the sleeve, yanking him back before he can wander off and distract their forensic scientist. “Sylvain, why are you late? You left the hotel to get coffee before we did. I hope you have an explanation and not an excuse.”

“Hey, watch the blazer I just had it dry cleaned,” he pouts as if Ingrid will care, smoothing out his dark blue sleeve. “And if you had just waited, you would know that yes, Ingrid, I do have an explanation that I believe you both will want to hear. Gather round children, Daddy has a story,” he announces gleefully. 

“Do not call yourself that,” Ingrid grumbles as Felix rolls his eyes, inwardly groaning. And people wonder why he doesn’t like working with his friends.

“I was just about to leave the coffeeshop when two fine women entered. I, true to my nature as a humble gentleman, hold the door for them, and while my eyes….ahem, _wandered_ , I noticed a very distinct CFPD badge on one of them.” Felix nods. _The cops Annette mentioned were sent to check the coffeeshop._ “I stuck around, waited for them to finish questioning the baristas, flashed these baby browns, and got us a name, and it was not the name of any of our sleepy security guards.” 

Felix and Ingrid wait. Sylvain also appears to be waiting, and with every passing second, Felix feels his annoyance grow. “The name?” He and Ingrid snap impatiently in a rare show of solidarity.

“Oh! Right. Sorry I was distracted, one of the detectives said the funniest thing—” Ingrid shoots him her signature look of disappointment, complete with an unimpressed roll of her eyes. “That I will tell you later,” he finishes. “The barista told me she distinctly remembered the name because it was the weekly order that the head of security always made, but he wasn’t the one ordering it. It was a woman named Kronya.” 

“Kronya,” Felix repeats slowly. “Hey, isn’t that one of the suspects in the assistant’s murder?” he frowns, turning to Ingrid. “Orange hair, weird tattoos on her face? Doesn’t the Fhirdiad P.D have someone tailing her?”

Ingrid gasps quietly, a deep crease forming on her forehead. “You don’t think she killed him too, do you? She must know that the police are onto her.” 

Annette appears out of nowhere, grabbing the iced tea out of Sylvain’s hands and taking a sip. “I suddenly shivered and had a feeling that we were talking about that scary assassin lady from last month,” she shudders, either from the topic at hand or the icy drink in hers. 

“Let’s discuss this outside,” Ingrid suggests quickly, jutting her chin towards the elevators. The Faerghans trail out the door behind her, not talking until they’re standing in humid outdoor air. Felix immediately loosens the knot of his tie and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. The leftover heat from the day bounces off the cobblestone in muggy waves, pressing in on them and making Felix hyper-aware of every drop of sweat forming on his brow or trickling down the back of his neck. He hates summer.

“Annette, you’ve looked at both victims,” Ingrid begins, opening her notepad again. “Do you think it’s possible that they were killed by the same person?” 

Annette’s brows furrow as she thinks, the heel of her shoe tapping against the cobblestone. “No,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “The first kill was much messier than this one. I know the amount of blood here might say otherwise, but this was actually a lot cleaner. The first body had multiple stab wounds. It was frantic, uncontrolled, and Kronya pretty much got caught. This one was careful and calculated. This killer is far more experienced, with highly efficient methods.”

“If it’s a different killer then why use Kronya’s name?” Sylvain asks, also loosening his tie. 

“We can always ask her,” Annette pipes up. “Ashe is the lead detective assigned to her surveillance, and last I heard from him, she was seen hiding out in a small apartment in Central Fódlan.” Sylvain shoots her funny look, her cheeks turning pink at the attention. “What? I’m fascinated by female assassins.” 

“Well, if there are two assassins operating within the same city, then maybe they know each other,” Ingrid shrugs, her pen clicking before she sets it to the paper. “Something to look into once we’re back in Fhirdiad.” 

“When we’re back in Fhirdiad?” Felix repeats, making sure he’d heard her right. “Wait a second, Ingrid, if there’s a chance that these two know each other then shouldn’t we find one of them, get them to lead us to the other one and make sure that neither of them are a threat?” To him, this is the clear course of action. Two birds with one stone. 

“We have our orders,” Ingrid reminds him stiffly. “We investigate, write a report, and then go home. The most we can do at this point is hand over our own discovery to the CFPD and let them handle it.” 

“No,” Felix scoffs with blatant disbelief. “Why have someone else do it when we have three perfectly capable individuals here that are more than equipped to handle any type of situation?”

“We don’t have the jurisdiction to make an arrest, nor do we have time to wait around for a warrant.” 

Again with the rules. Working with her really is just like working with his father. “Can’t we just...make a citizen’s arrest or something? All we have to do is get the address form Ashe and then play it by ear.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Felix,” Ingrid deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest and her glare cutting like daggers across his skin. “We were specifically told to not intervene with the CFPD’s investigation.” 

“It’s not intervening if they don’t know,” he shrugs, but it only seems to set her off more. Maybe the heat is making her more irritable.

“You see Felix, this is exactly why your father doesn’t trust you to lead these assignments,” she huffs as Annette and Sylvain avert their gazes to the ground. “You’re rude, irresponsible, and you don’t think about the consequences of your actions.”

Maybe the heat is making Felix more irritable too, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold his tongue today, and he doesn’t particularly want to. “The first two things I’ll admit to, but the last one I disagree with. You’re the one not thinking things through, Ingrid.”

“Oh, enlighten me, please,” she challenges, shoving Sylvian’s hand off of her shoulder. 

Never one to back down form a challenge, Felix narrows his eyes dangerously. “Say we do go home and let two assassins roam free, plotting, planning. Then we come back for the rite with the boar, and we get attacked. What then? I don’t know about you, but I’m not dying because I didn’t break the rules to take initiative and get ahead of something.”

Ingrid steps close enough that they’re standing toe to toe. “If we get attacked then I will gladly lay down my life to protect my king, just like Glenn,” she answers without hesitation.

A deep hurt resonates in his chest for a split second but it quickly dissipates, morphing into annoyance that creeps up his spine to throb in the back of his skull. “Well Glenn was an idiot for doing that, and you’re just as bad as he was. Could you live with yourself? Knowing that you could have prevented it but you didn’t because you didn’t want to break your precious rules.” 

“Felix,” Sylvain warns in a low voice, reaching out to him. 

He jerks away, staggering backwards. “No, she needs to know that things like this aren’t worth dying for. Who can you protect if you’re dead?” 

No one answers. Even Ingrid is oddly silent, staring down at her shoes.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and turning his back to his friends. They don’t understand - no one does.

“We’re going home, Felix,” she calls after him as he walks away, her voice no longer sharp. She just sounds tired. “I expect you on that flight tomorrow.” 

“Whatever,” he replies without stopping or looking back. Felix isn’t even sure of where he’s going, but he just needs to get out of there. Hecan’t stand the sight of those big, sad eyes of hers tearing into his soul, dredging up the feelings about his brother that he’d pushed down for so long. 

He doesn’t notice that he’s being followed until he feels Sylvain’s familiar weight press down around his shoulders. “You look like you need a drink,” he murmurs, and Felix can’t bring himself to argue anymore. 

For once in his life, Felix actually thinks that Sylvain is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drew a bit of inspo from Killing Eve for the first part of this chapter! Excellent show, highly recommend for vibes


	2. Dark and Broody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> university is KICKING MY BUTT so that's why this is so late

_22nd of the Blue Sea Moon, 21:30_

_Central Fódlan, Business District_

__________

Felix didn’t care much for the quality of his alcohol. It didn’t matter if it was the cheap stuff that just tasted like wood and bad decisions or expensive top-shelf liquor that cost half his paycheck. As long as it was strong enough to make him forget the day’s transgressions and drown out the sound of Sylvain’s voice, it was enough for him.

“Make it a double,” he sighs to the bartender, tilting his head toward Sylvain, who sits a seat down from him. “That’s my co-worker.” Right on cue, Sylvian’s laughs a decibel too loud at whatever the brunette next to him is blathering on about. The bartender nods in understanding, topping off his drink.

Felix sips casually, taking in the scene around him. It isn’t like the old pubs he’s used to in Fhirdiad, with their loud music, greasy foods, and craft beers. No, this place was vintage wines and spirits, where peanuts were replaced by edamame beans and charcuterie. The atmosphere dripped class. Complete with glossy, dark oak tabletops, crystal light fixtures that emitted a soft, amber glow and smooth leather bar stools that Sylvain deemed perfect for sliding into. It was sleek, sultry, and admittedly a little sexy.

“Did you have to come dressed like that?” Sylvain asks once he’s bored with the brunette, slipping back into the stool on his right. 

Felix frowns down at his clothes. A simple sweater and chinos, what could possibly be the issue? “You told me to change.” The alternative had been coming in his uniform, which Sylvain had heavily disapproved of.

“You’re wearing a black turtleneck in the middle of _summer._ ” 

Felix bristles. “And you’re wearing a three piece suit,” he retorts, eyeing the burgundy coloured set his friend dons. “Who wears a suit to a bar?” 

Sylvain gestures around the room in response. “Everyone except you, apparently. This place is the playground for Central Fodlan’s elite.”

His eyes do another lazy sweep of the scene, this time zeroing in on the patrons occupying the space. Men in loose hanging silk ties and crisp, pressed shirts, their blazers hanging over the backs of chairs or loosely draped over the shoulders of female companions. The women wear a mix of sleek cocktail dresses and pencil skirts, sensible lengths that one could still slide their hand up if invited to. This is where the rich come to play after boring days at the office, and Felix sticks out like a sore thumb in his teal pants and black turtleneck.

“We should just go back to the hotel,” he grumbles, downing the rest of his drink. He doesn’t belong in a scene like this, in a ritzy bar surrounded by business clad people. “Ingrid is going to give us an earful if we show up hungover tomorrow. Pretty sure she’s planning on having us report to my old man as soon as we get there.” The thought of seeing his father makes him less than enthusiastic to get back, and has him flagging down the bartender for another drink. Ingrid could wait.

“Why are you so pissed at Ingrid?” Sylvain questions, elbow resting on the bar, chin resting in his hand. 

“She made the wrong call tonight,” he deadpans. “Ingrid does this every time she’s in charge. She sticks to the rules and she won’t bend or break them for anything or anyone. Right this second we could be nipping this threat in the bud, but because my almost-in-law is a suck-up and my dad’s number one fan, I’m here drinking with you while she calls that old bastard to gossip about me. Hell, she’s probably telling him to file a complaint against me to HR or something.” She’d done it before. Apparently talking back to his superiors was disrespectful.

Sylvain sighs, shaking his head slightly. “Rodrigue puts her in charge for a reason. She’s the most responsible, level headed, and qualified,” he points out. “Last time you were in charge, we got in trouble for how many things in Morfis?”

“We got the guy, didn’t we? What’s a few speeding and parking tickets?”

Sylvain shoots him a dry look. “It was a high-speed car chase and you almost wrapped our rental car around a pole. Not to mention we were just there to—”

“Assess and report,” Felix grunts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know the drill. That’s all we do, and it’s infuriating. My father is useless.”

“So that’s what this is about. You’re still fighting with your dad, and you’re projecting onto Ingrid.” Sylvain chuckles, popping a cactus cut potato into his mouth. “Or are you just jealous that his almost daughter-in-law is stealing your place in the family?”

“Stop talking and eat your food,” he mutters, turning away from him. “And quit defending your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend... _yet,_ ” Sylvain muses as he grabs another piece of potato. “I’m just saying...don’t punish her for your dad’s mistakes and defending Glenn’s—”

“Stop talking about them,” Felix snaps, grip tightening around his glass. He doesn’t have many easily exposed sore points, but this was about as close as one could get. “Or I swear I’m going to throw this glass at you and walk right out of here.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Jeez, calm down. No need to be so feisty, I was just saying.” 

Felix doesn’t bother apologizing, silently glowering down at the liquid in his glass. 

It wasn’t that he hated Ingrid - he could never bring himself to hate her. They were both just hard-headed people, set in their ways and refusing to budge or give each other room. And as for taking his spot in the family, she could by all means have it, he didn’t care. It was bad enough that he had to deal with his father at work on a daily basis, and if she could take his place at Sunday dinners, then he would hand his father the adoption forms himself.

His father was a different story. He hated the man. 

...And that was the end of that story.

But when Ingrid and Rodrigue teamed up, they always somehow brought Glenn into the mix, and gone were Felix’s last few bits of sanity. 

“Shot of tequila, please,” a new patron requests, the edge in her voice cutting through the quiet jazz and muted conversation and interrupting his brooding. Felix unconsciously swivels his head to find its owner, seated two stools down from him. 

He’s suddenly not the only one out of place. She slides up to the bar, easily leaning forward and oblivious to the various stares thrown her direction. Dark teal hair thrown up into a haphazard bun, exposing the smooth, pale expanse of her neck. Black leather over a slim fitting black top, black skinny jeans covering shapely legs, and ankle boots to match. Felix runs his tongue over his bottom lip, sweeping up the excess alcohol as he lowers his glass. 

Sylvain follows his gaze, and he can practically hear the wicked smile on his face. “Oh, you like her, do you? Gotta say, she seems like your type.” 

Felix scoffs. “Shut up.” She’s _exactly_ his type. 

“Go talk to her,” Sylvain prods, nudging him lightly. “If you don’t, someone else definitely will. It would also do you some good to work off some tension before spending two hours in a plane with Ingrid tomorrow. Rodrigue said no more fighting on the jet, the pilot almost quit after last time.” 

“I accidentally picked up _your_ loaded gun. Why did you even have the safety off? We were on a plane!”

“Details, details,” Sylvian dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Now get over there and talk to her. Look, she’s drinking all alone, looking all dark and broody. You’ll get along fabulously.”

Felix sets his glass down. “I’m not the one who whores themself out,” he said flatly. “That’s your specialty. Even if I wanted to...I wouldn’t know how.” Loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn’t the smoothest when it came to words.

Sylvain only shrugs. “You’ve seen me do it plenty of times. It’s like Karate Kid.” 

A pause. “How is this anything like that?” 

“You know when he’s teaching him wax on and wax off but he’s actually teaching him how to fight?” 

“You want me to fight her?” he asks dryly.

Sylvain sputters on his drink, hitting his chest a few times. “No! Ugh, and you guys call me the dumb one.” He sets his glass down, rolling his shoulders a few times before hopping to his feet. “Try to learn something, alright?” Felix breathes a sigh as he watches Sylvain fix his blazer and run a hand through his hair, confidently striding over to the woman and sliding into the seat next on her left. Some things were better left alone.

**~~~~~**

“Shot of tequila, please,” Byleth requests boredly, propping her elbow up onto the table and resting her cheek in her palm. The place is fancier than she remembers, all marble and crystal complete with dim lighting that made her a little sleepy.

It’s not long before someone slides into the seat next to her, clearing their throat loudly. She tried her best to ignore them, not in the mood to make small talk or be hit on. When she walked in, all Byleth could see were greasy businessmen and sequin clad gold-diggers. No, this would not be the place to find her mind-blowing orgasm.

The person cleared their throat again, and Byleth felt a twinge of annoyance, her fingers twitching towards the knife she kept concealed on her hip. “Can I help you?” She snaps, turning to face the stubborn stranger, the vein in her forehead throbbing. He wasn’t particularly bad to look at. Broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, a face that was easy on the eyes. Maybe she would take him home...

“Can I buy you a drink?” A smooth, sultry voice asks, accompanied by a handsome smile seemingly painted onto his lips. The bartender finally places her drink in front of her, and the redheaded stranger pulls out his wallet and slides a few bills across the counter. “It’s on me."

She doesn’t thank him or grace him with a smile, picking up the shot glass and tipping its contents into her mouth. She slams it back down onto the counter, wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. At least the alcohol here was half decent. Maybe with two more shots she would be loose and ready to drag Red back home with her. He’s not exactly her type, but the suave air surrounding him indicated that he was confident, and men who looked and sounded like him were usually a good time. She’d thought the same of Claude, and he’d been _fantastic._

“So what’s a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this? You drinking to forget the guy who was stupid enough to let you go?” And just like that she’s kicking herself for ever considering taking him home. Most men were great until they opened their mouths. 

Byleth only scoffs, casting him a wary side glance. Usually it packs enough venom to deter even the stubbornest of men, but she knows for a fact that Red is a Faerghan, and Faerghan’s are as stubborn as they come. She should know, her father is one after all. 

As expected, Red isn’t ready to give up. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? That’s okay, I’ll talk. I’m here drinking because the girl I’m in love with is still hung up on her dead fiance, who - oh! Is my best friend’s brother. It’s really-”

“Red,” Byleth interrupts when she decides she can’t take it anymore. “Go sit next to someone who cares.” He looks shocked, brows raising in surprise, mouth hanging open. She can tell he doesn’t get rejected often. “Shoo, little boy,” she adds when he doesn’t move. 

He blinks a couple of times, and Byleth is about to tell him off when he speaks yet again. “Oh, let me introduce you to my friend—” 

“Felix,” a new voice interjects. The deep, smoky timbre reminds her of finely aged whiskey, awakening something warm and pleasant within her body. When she sees his face, the feeling intensifies. Dark hair combed back into a bun, striking amber eyes, a lean physique, and a seemingly permanent scowl etched onto his face. He was even wearing black. “That’s Sylvain, he adds, jutting his chin towards Red. “He was just leaving.”

Byleth feels heat rise in her core - he knew how to take control too. This Felix was ticking all her boxes, and was definitely her type. She’d always liked the dark and broody ones. 

She ignores Red as he mutters incoherently, vacating his seat and stalking off. “Mind if I sit?” Felix asks her.

“That depends,” she hums, gloved finger slowly circling the rim of her empty shot glass. “Are you as bad at flirting as your friend was?”

“I’m not here to hit on you,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth rising. “I’m here to make sure you don’t hit him. He has a very punchable throat.”

“Yeah, his Adam’s Apple makes for a nice target,” she agrees, watching quietly as he orders a drink. “So if you aren’t here to flirt, are you here to share your daddy issues with me?” She presses slyly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from laughing at the pinched expression on his face. “Your friend is kind of loud.” 

She’d been listening to them when she came in, hanging back at a nearby table. Byleth loved gossip, and two men discussing their daddy issues was far better than the mind numbing small talk around her.

“Damn Sylvain,” Felix mutters, turning back to shoot Red a dark look. “I don’t have daddy issues,” he clarifies. “I have a father that’s a dick.” 

Byleth doesn’t see much of a difference, but doesn’t say so out loud. “Try working for your dad,” she scoffs. “I know nepotism is generally frowned upon, but can’t the old man cut me some slack once in a while?”

Felix stares at her, the corners of his lips curling into what she assumes is his version of a smile. “Your dad is your boss?”

“Unfortunately.”

He hums as the bartender sets his drink in front of him. “I work for my dad too. What’d you do to piss yours off?”

Byleth flicks a stray crumb of something off the counter. He doesn’t need to know the exact details of her job, but she’s more than happy to rant about her father to someone who _might_ understand. “Long story short he doesn’t trust me to do my job right,” she explains. “So for no reason at all he suspended me ‘until further notice.’ I mean, that’s an abuse of power, right?”

“Definitely,” he hums.

“So he withheld the...project I’d been looking forward to, even though he promised it would be mine,” she fumed, huffing like a child being sent to bed without dessert. “And I was ready for it!”

“That is unfair.”

Yes, it was unfair and no one else seemed to see it that way. “What about you, what did you do to piss your father off? Spit in his coffee? Throw a keyboard at him? Steal his stapler?”

Felix’s brow quirks up, and Byleth notices a small scar above the arch. “Not him specifically, but I keep yelling at his favourite employee.”

“Why?”

His lips flatten into a line, the tendons in his hand flexing. “I don’t always agree with her decisions.”

“Lovers spat?” 

His eyes narrow at her, and Byleth finds herself growing hot under his gaze. “No, she’s a kiss ass who also happens to be my supervisor. They always gang up on me.”

She’s vaguely reminded of her father and Seteth. The two loved teaming up to yell at her. “What did you disagree on this time around?”

Felix seems to hesitate, frowning as he contemplates his answer. “I wanted to interview someone right away, but she overruled me and said we should wait. Let justice run its course.”

Byleth’s fingers nervously drum the surface of the bar. Justice? Was he some sort of cop? “I have to admit, you don’t seem like the type to adhere to a hierarchy of power.” Just from speaking to him, she can tell that he’s too honest to work smoothly under others. In a way, his personality very much matched hers, even if he was a cop. How odd.

“Neither do you,” he points out. Sure, Byleth liked to challenge the system once in a while, but she liked getting paid much _much_ more. 

They spend a bit of time drinking in silence, Byleth nursing another shot of tequila, and him a new glass of bourbon. As he silently stews beside her, it’s almost as if Byleth can feel the heat radiating from his body. It was a quiet type of anger - the type that one kept bottled up with the intention of maintaining civility. “So who are we to let them tell us what we can and can’t do?” He snaps, that anger finally boiling over.

Byleth blinks at him, unsure if it’s meant to be rhetorical. “Uh, our contracts? You know, the set of rules and regulations that we submit to in the names of our employers?”

His expression pinches, and he looks a smidge irritated. “Who cares about rules? If we’re right, we should act on it. We should take initiative.” 

“Break the rules, you mean? So you’re saying I should do the project myself anyways?” You see, when it came to insubordination, Byleth had always been all bark and no bite. Sure, she yelled at her bosses but would she ever consider actually acting against her father’s word? Probably not. If she messed up, he would say ‘I told you so’ and fire her. Byleth did not want to get fired.

“Yeah,” he nods, a fire blazing behind those amber eyes. “What better way to say ‘screw you’ than getting the job done on your own?”

It’s Byleth’s turn to contemplate. “Why are you encouraging me?” She asks suspiciously. “For all I could be a serial killer after a new assignment,” she adds coyly, taking the glass in Felix’s hand and sipping at it innocently. “I could be dangerous.”

She noticed his now empty fingers twitch in the slightest, but his eyes were shining. She didn’t know him well enough to decipher his emotions accurately, but it was the gleam in Catherine’s eye when she would tap out of her headlock or when Shamir made a clean shot at an even further distance than her previous record. It was the gleam of excitement and thrill.

His half-smile turned smug, as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “You don’t look that dangerous to me,” he chuckles, and Byleth didn’t have the strength to hold back her sharp laughter. Felix looked slightly confused at her mirth. If only he knew about the blades hidden in the soles of her boots, the dagger attached to her hip, and the pistol in the waistband of her jeans. 

What? A girl needs to be able to defend herself. Pepper spray wasn’t enough.

“You are a very bad judge of character,” she laughs again, shoving his shoulder lightly. Her hand meets firm muscle, and she lets her hand linger a moment longer than necessary. Very nice. “But you’re right,” she decides, patting his nicely muscled shoulder. “I should get the job done on my own.”

It was her contract, ultimately. Her revenge for attempting to kill her father. If anyone deserved to kill Kronya, it was her. All she had to do was sneak into her father’s office and get the file. Like taking candy from a baby. Well, if that baby had a key to a locked office, was armed to the teeth, and seemed to have it out for her lately. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Especially if it meant she could put a bullet between Kronya’s eyes.

She hands his empty glass back, their fingers brushing as he takes it. “And you, will you chase your path of justice?” She presses, delighting in the way his eyes roll at the word ‘justice.’

“Something like that,” he nods slowly, and Byleth wants nothing more than to see what exactly her new handsome, dark, and broody drinking pal is up to, but she has her own justice to chase.

Byleth pushes off the bar, sliding out of her seat. “Well then, no use in wasting time, is there? Thanks for the drink, Blue. I’d love to do this again sometime,” she smiles, slapping him on the shoulder. She turns on her heel and struts out, throwing a wink Red’s way when he whistles at her.

“I don’t even know your name!” Felix calls after her.

Byleth doesn’t look back, but feels the smile on her face grow. “I’m just a girl in a bar.”


	3. No Hard Feelings

_22nd of the Blue Sea Moon, 23:41_

_Central Fódlan, Outskirts_

**__________**

Following his epiphany with the mysterious woman at the bar, Felix did not waste any time. After dragging Sylvain out of the bar and shoving him into a cab, all it took was a call to Ashe, a light threat, and the promise of a special bag of candy that he couldn’t get in Fhirdiad. 

The information he’d coerced out of Ashe had led him to the bare outskirts of Central Fódlan. While the streets of the business district were all prim, polished, and full of life and vitality, its outskirts were the complete opposite. All that remained of the forgotten neighbourhood were dilapidated brick apartment complexes, with windows made up of broken glass and flats of wood. Long abandoned and generally repulsive to those passing through, this was the perfect place for a wanted assassin to lay low.

“This place gives me the creepity creeps,” Annette shivers from her spot in the driver’s seat. She’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white. “Please tell me you aren’t planning on conducting a watch, I feel like this place is haunted.” 

“We aren’t staying long,” Felix assures her, peering through a pair of night vision binoculars. He knows that Annette isn’t a fan of anything that’s the slightest bit dark and spooky, but he didn’t want to drive out alone and she’d been the only one he trusted enough not to immediately report him to Ingrid or his father. “You can even keep the car running, I just want to check something out.” He was planning on arresting an assassin, but she didn’t have to know that.

“Do you have an actual plan?” She questions, looking over her shoulder at him. “Do you need backup?” 

“No, I don’t need either,” he scoffs. The whole reason he’d come out here without Sylvain and Ingrid was so that he didn’t have to adhere to any plan, instead relying on instinct and action. Those were the only things that mattered anyways.

Felix sets the binoculars down when he doesn’t catch any movement in the shattered windows, deducing that she must be hiding behind one of the covered windows, up on the sixth floor. He can climb up there using the fire escape.

He’s grabbing the handle of the car door when a flash of movement across the street catches his eye. “What was that?” Annette already panics, blue eyes wide with alarm. Squinting, he vaguely makes the outline of a person, creeping towards the apartment.

I had to be Kronya. Who else would it be?

Not taking his eyes off the dark figure, Felix quickly pats himself down, making sure he isn’t missing anything. With his kevlar vest strapped on underneath his shirt, gun loaded, he was definitely ready for his version of justice. Things would go a lot faster if he was in charge all the time. 

“Take a drive around the block, Annie. I’ll call you when I’m done.” He knows that the moment she sees him fighting or hears gunshots, she _will not_ hesitate to call Ingrid, and the last thing he needs is Ingrid saving him should this go south.

“What?! You can’t leave me—”

“Take a drive or a ghost will come get you.” He whispers forcefully, stepping out of the vehicle and closing the car door as quietly as possible. The car immediately speeds out of sight, leaving Felix with nothing but the flickering light of a lone, stubborn street lamp as tattered newspapers tumble by his feet. 

Pressing himself against a nearby wall, he peeks around the corner. A hum of excitement courses through his veins, ridding his body of any lingering drowsiness. The figure also seems to be casing the building, inspecting the battered front door before moving onto the very fire escape that he’d been eying earlier. If this wasn’t Kronya, then perhaps it was an associate of hers?

Freeing his gun from its holster, Felix sticks to the shadows and walks heel to toe, ensuring a near soundless approach on the asphalt. He’s close now, and his heart is beating so loudly in his chest that it nearly drowns out all other sounds, but it sharpens his focus and strengthens his resolve. 

The figure takes one step towards the fire escape when Felix lifts his gun and realizes that no, he isn’t some cop who has the right to yell ‘freeze’ and flash his badge. What do government agents in service of a king say? Faerghus didn’t even have the right to perform an arrest on Church territory, what was he supposed to do now?

As the figure begins to ascend the stairs, he panics. “Halt,” he blurts out rather stupidly, annoyed by how much the word reminds him of Dimitri. Of all the things…

But it works, and the person slowly turns around. The top half of their face is covered by a dark hood, but Felix can tell from the swell of their chest and the curve of their hips that it’s a woman. 

_Kronya?_ His brain automatically falls back to as it struggles to make sense of the situation. What now? Tell her they can do this the easy way or the hard way? Ask her to come quietly and _wait_ as he calls Annette? What wanted assassin would ever agree to that? 

Shit, maybe he should have come up with a plan after all.

It’s a fact only further proven the woman jumps forward, locking a gloved hand around his wrist and twisting outwards, forcing him to drop his weapon, then driving her knee up into his groin. Felix mostly doubles over in shock, the impact having been reduced by the kevlar. She must realize this, because she shoves him backwards. It’s not enough force to send him to the ground, but just enough for him to stumble and give her a head start, turning on her heel and dashing up the first set of stairs. 

Felix curses at being caught off guard, abandoning his discarded pistol and running up the stairs after her. Kronya or not, this was personal now. He takes the stairs two at a time, easily catching up to her.

When they both reach the landing, Felix lunges, grabbing the tail of her coat and yanking her backwards. Locking his arms around her shoulders and fisting the back of her coat, he uses all his strength to throw her down, landing with a groan. 

She doesn’t stay down for long, because before he can head up the next flight of stairs, her foot meets the back of his knee, and the second after his leg folds she’s back in front of him, kicking him square in the chest with so much force that his back hits the railing. 

As he’s getting up, something whistles past his ear. _Knife_ , he registers as it clatters against the railing, having just barely missed its mark. Felix growls as he grasps the handle of the combat knife, it’s blade short but sharp. The woman is starting on the fourth flight of stairs now, moving with a steady speed. 

She may be fast, but Felix was faster. Especially when he was pissed. He’d been tossed around by her enough.

The moment he catches up to her on what must be the fifth or sixth landing, she turns to face him and he sees that she’s brandishing yet another knife. She spins it deftly between her fingers as she waits for him to make the first move. Patience was never his strong suit, so he slashes once, twice, three times, each aimed for her major arteries, each one dodged with the fluidity of a practiced fighter. As he goes in for a fourth, she drops her own knife, grabbing his wrist with both her hands, and twisting it painfully, plucking the weapon from his grasp.

As soon as she has him disarmed, she immediately follows up using the heel of her hand to deliver a swift hit to the centre of his face, complete with a second jab to the base of his throat. Not hard enough to cut off his breathing, but forcing him to take huge, gasping breaths. 

Felix stumbles back, truly perplexed as to how many times he’d gotten his ass handed to him in such a short amount of time. While he’s wheezing for air and wiping blood from his nose, he hears her chuckle, and the sound makes his blood boil hot. Like a lion lunging at its prey, Felix takes a few short strides and hits her with a full body tackle, sending them both through a boarded up window. 

They land inside of a dusty living room, surrounded by stray shards of glass and splintered wood, but it’s right where he wants her. 

Nowhere to run.

He uses his entire body weight to lock her down, sitting on her abdomen and using his foot to incapacitate the hand holding her dagger. Felix’s hands wrap around her throat, and under a stream of moonlight, he finally gets a good look at his assailant’s face. 

Steel blue eyes, teal hair, smooth pale skin.

_The woman from the bar._

What is she doing here?

 _“You?”_ He asks as she continues to struggle against her grip. She’d seemed so normal at the bar, and now she was trying to kill him? Maybe he was a bad judge of character. “What are you doing here?” 

She just glares at him and taps his hands, which are still squeezing her throat. He loosens his grip and that’s his first mistake, because instead of answering she grabs his shoulders and flings him down onto the floor, his shoulders digging into shards of broken glass.

Both of them scramble to their feet and back a safe distance away from each other, her catching her breath while Felix groans and rubs his back. _That’s going to hurt tomorrow._

“Interview, huh?” She huffs across from him, hurtling her dagger at him. “Dorothea is right, all men _are_ liars.”

Felix barely manages to duck under the blade. “And you’re not? This is your so-called project?” He retorts, yanking her dagger out of the wall it’s lodged in. She runs at him, but Felix catches her shoulders and slams her into the wall, pressing his forearm into her chest. He holds the dagger to her throat. “Who the hell are you? Are you an assassin? Did you kill Kleiman?”

She grunts at the impact, huffing like a stubborn horse and staring at him with wide, wild eyes. “Why, are you here to arrest me?” Felix is momentarily taken aback. _She didn’t deny it._

He doesn’t answer her, using his free hand to frisk her person, looking for any more weapons. He finds a small blade strapped to her upper arm, and tosses it out the shattered window. When his hand skims over her thigh, he hears her snicker, the sound making his blood run hot in more ways than one.

“If you wanted to cop a feel, you could have just asked when we were at the bar.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, the dagger drawing a trickle of blood from her neck. 

“If you’re gonna kill me, you better not mess up,” she laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement. “I’ll give you one chance, Blue. You fail and I kill _you,”_ she snarls. 

“I don’t want to do that,” he whispers harshly. “But you sure as hell seem hellbent on killing me. Why is that?”

She pushes against him, but he shoves her back. “I didn’t plan on it, but you started it,” she spits. “Pointing a gun at me and telling me to ‘halt’ as if I were some peasant in ye olden days.”

His cheeks warm with mild embarrassment at the memory. “Yeah, and then you attacked me,” he points out. 

She rolls her eyes as if he were being dramatic. As if she hadn’t been coming at him with the wrath of Saint Seiros herself. “I barely touched you and you fell over. I was just trying to stall you.”  
“And throwing knives at my head was the way to do that?”

“What, was I just supposed to stand still and let you shoot me with that government issued pistol of yours? Why were you even pointing it at me in the first place?”

Felix stiffened at the word ‘government,’ but she had him there. “I thought you were an assassin. Are you?” 

She opens her mouth to give another smartass answer, but it’s drowned out by a gunshot, the sound ringing throughout the cramped apartment and rattling Felix’s brain. He throws the woman into a nearby bookcase, letting the decaying wood crumble around her as he looks around as he moves out of the room, trying to find the origin of the gunshot. 

Felix crouches and creeps forward, knife held up by his head in one hand, his left arm held out in front of him as he sweeps the rooms one by one. His heart hammers in his chest as he pushes the final door open. 

The scent of fresh blood overwhelms his senses, and when his eyes sweep the room, he sees a spatter of blood painting the wall beside the bed. _Whose blood?_

He slowly moves forward, keeping his back to the wall as he walks around the bed, his fingers flexing around the handle of the knife. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath when he spots the body laying on the floor. Female, orange hair, face tattoos. A bullet hole set between lifeless eyes. 

_Kronya._

She’s dead. _Now what? Who killed her?_

Something sharp pricks the back of his neck and Felix inhales sharply, lifting a trembling hand up to the back of his neck. He yanks a dart out of his skin, looking down and cursing once more when he realizes what it is. 

_“You’re good,”_ he hears behind him as his vision starts to blur, his hands shaking as he drops the empty syringe. _“But I’m better.”_

He lunges in her general direction, slashing with her knife, but she easily sidesteps him and pushes him back into the wall. Felix staggers back and grips at the flat surface, trying to find something to hang onto as his knees give out and he slides down onto the floor. “What did you do to me?” He groans. The woman squats beside him, a wicked smile on her face and a dark look in her eyes. 

“Nothing you didn’t deserve, but there's no hard feelings, right?” she says, patting his cheek. His eyelids feel heavy, and it’s a struggle to keep them open. “You should have just hit on me in that bar, Blue,” she chuckles as his eyes slip shut. The last thing he feels is her lips grazing the shell of his ear and making him shudder. _“Cause I’m a great shot, but I’m an even greater lay.”_

**__________**

When Felix drifts back into a state of semi-consciousness, the first thing he notices is the smell of eggs on the stove. The second thing he notices is that he’s tied to a chair, his hands bound tightly behind his back, the length of rope even coiled around his neck. Each of his limbs feels like it’s weighed down by a sack of rocks, his brain feels like it’s been split in half, and his lungs feel like they’re on fire. 

He’s not in that shitty apartment anymore, and there’s no dead assassin laying on the floor in front of him, no brains sprayed across the wall. This place is clean, all sharp edges and dark colours, leather and marble and fancy woods that are reminiscent of his own apartment back in Fhirdiad. 

“Oh, it’s about time you woke up. I was getting bored of watching you sleep.” 

Felix swings his head around, catching sight of that damned woman standing in the doorway, a plate of food and a set of cutlery in her hands. “Untie me,” he demands, the words scratching against his throat like sandpaper. 

“That’s so cute,” she grins with barely controlled mirth, pulling up another chair and sitting across from him. “You actually think you can boss me around.”

When he jerks against the bonds, the loop of rope around his neck tightens, constricting his airway. Felix ceases his movements and glares as the woman laughs again, her expression annoyingly nonchalant. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The more you struggle the more you strangle yourself.” She pauses, assessing him as she spears a piece of scrambled egg on her fork, chewing thoughtfully. “Unless that’s your thing.”

Sylvain’s definitely, but not his. 

Well...not like this at least. 

“Listen here you—”

She’s in front of him in an instant, her knee driving into his groin and the blunt edge of a butterknife poking against his jugular. “You better choose your next words very carefully, Blue. I’m still pissed at you for throwing me into a bookcase.” 

Felix — without thought as per usual — rears his head back and smashes his forehead against hers, pain exploding in his skull. It was probably one of the most poorly executed headbutts in his life, but he was at his wits end with this woman and her. 

“Oh, Sothis above!” She hisses, stumbling backwards and rubbing her forehead. “It’s like you want me to kiss you with the back of a frying pan!” 

Felix does his best to blink past the blinding pain. He’d probably given himself a concussion. “Where am I?” He questions, trying to crane his head around to look out a window. “Why did you take me here?”

She doesn’t answer him, striding out of the room. He hears a few doors slam, and she comes out with a frozen bag of peas, holding it to her forehead. She returns to her seat, leaning forward and looking him in the eye as she sets his pistol on the coffee table. Felix despises eye contact, but he’s currently pissed enough to hold a steady glare. 

“My questions first,” she starts. “Why is a member of the king’s Lionguard after someone like Kronya? Don’t even try to lie to me, because I will know.”

Felix’s heart drops, falling out of his ass and onto the floor. “How did you know I was…”

“The way you fight,” she snorts as if it were obvious. “You’re clearly skilled and really strong, but all you Faerghan’s fight with the same predictable movements. It’s like your ancestors were noble knights or something.” He isn’t sure if it’s meant to be an insult, or if her voice just sounds naturally condescending. She tosses something out onto the table. “Also, a bit of advice for next time you go rogue; leave your wallet and ID at home, not in your back pocket.”

The scowling face on the ID card taunts him. It’s a rookie mistake, but in his defence, it wasn’t supposed to end like this. “I wasn’t supposed to get caught.”

“Well, you did.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, I didn’t have it easy either. I had to clean your drool off the back seats of my car.”

“You _drugged_ me.”

She rolls her eyes at him, picking up her plate and resuming what Felix assumes is her breakfast. “Oh please, the dose I gave you was barely enough to take out a dog, but you went out like a light. You must not get tranqed often.”

“They don’t tranq people in Faerghus,” he grumbles. Killers back home don’t take people hostage, they shot to kill, no questions asked. It happened to his brother.

“Sounds boring,” she sighs, taking a bite of her toast. It’s almost strange to see her in the light of day, her skin glowing in the sunlight, peppered with fresh bruises and cuts from last night’s altercation. He can see the marks his fingers made around his neck. “You still didn’t answer my question.” 

Felix turns away indignantly. “The king didn’t send me, I came on my own.”

“Story of your life, huh?”

Annoyance throbs in his temples. It’s like talking to Sylvain, but somehow worse. 

“Why is the Lionguard in Central Fódlan, Blue?” Goddess, he hates that nickname. Colours are for objects, not people. “I assume Red is one of yours too. Your phone’s been blowing up for hours.”

 _Oh, shit._ He was supposed to be on a plane home today, enduring another one of Ingrid’s lectures and dealing with a dramatic, hungover Sylvain. And Annette, where was Annette? “What time is it?” 

She only shrugs, and Felix can’t find a clock anywhere. “Beats me. I hardly know what day of the week it is when I’m not working.”

Felix watches as she abandons her fork, using her fingers to pick up a piece of scrambled egg. _This is the woman who beat the crap out of me?_ “The girl I came to the apartment with, did you see where she went?”

“The little one in the car? She drove off after about ten minutes. If you answer my question I’ll read you a few messages from your phone.”

Thinking about how angry Ingrid can get over text, he almost doesn’t answer. “A Faerghan businessman was murdered three days before the Rite of Rebirth. The Crown wants to know if it’s safe to send the king.”

“And you really thought Kronya killed him? You were there to ‘take initiative?’ Give the middle finger to your father?”

“For a second, yeah,” he admits. “But now I know that it was you. Why use her name with the guards?”

Her lips form a fox-like grin. “We have some unfinished business, her and I. I was going to off her myself, but it seems that someone beat me to it.” When she notices him staring, her grin widens. “You can ask me, you know. I know you want to.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare.”

Honestly, she’s more like the scariest wet dream he’s ever had. “I know that, but what’s your name?” He presses. “You know mine, even though you refuse to use it.”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, which maybe he is considering she has him tied to a chair and his own gun pointed at him on the table. “So you can put a warrant out for my arrest the second you get back to Fhirdiad? I’d rather lick a cheese grater than tell you.”

The door behind her flies open, making them both jump. She reaches under her chair and draws yet another combat knife - how many did she have?

 _“Byleth!”_ A young girl’s voice shouts, it’s owner with bouncing green curls soon skipping into the room, a tupperware full of cookies in her hands. “I hope you don’t mind me using your spare key, I assumed you would still be in bed. Since you loved the cookies so much, I wanted to surprise you with your own batch!”

The woman — _Byleth,_ tries to block the doorway, but the girl ducks under her arm. “Flayn, wait—”

She doesn’t stop, skipping straight into the living room and coming face to face with Felix, her eyes widening as the container of cookies falls to the floor. 

“Flayn, it’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Felix deadpans. 

The girl slowly turns towards his captor. “Please tell me you have this man tied up for sexual reasons beyond my understanding.” 

~~~~~

Byleth drags Flayn out of the living room, out of Felix’s sight. “You cannot tell your brother or my dad about this, or I swear to the goddess, Flayn—”

“You’ll swear nothing to the goddess,” she gasps loudly, as if she’d sworn in church. “Did you tie that man up for nefarious reasons?”

Byleth winces. “Ah, not exactly…”

If anyone knows when she’s underselling something, it’s Flayn, who releases an exasperated sigh. “Oh no, what have you done now?” 

“Let’s say that I hypothetically stole the files on Kronya from dad’s office. Then, in this hypothetical situation, I went to her apartment, found her dead, and ended up fighting, drugging, and kidnapping a member of King Dimitri’s Lionguard.” 

Flayn eyes widen. “He’s part of the Lionguard? King Dimitri is a reasonable man, but this is going to be _a lot_ of paperwork. Not to mention you’re still on suspension.”

 _“Temporary leave,”_ she corrects. “And he drew a gun on me first!”

“I thought this was hypothetical! Did you hypothetically retaliate?”

“I may have shoved him once or twice.” 

“Were the knives you threw at me hypothetical too?” Felix asks loudly, causing Flayn to shoot her a disapproving stare. She really should have gagged him. 

“Oh, let it go, Blue!” She yells back. “If I really wanted you dead you wouldn’t have made it past the first flight of stairs.”

Flayn smacks her arm, hushing her. “Shhh! Stop threatening him, you’re only making it worse.”

“That was hardly a threat. It was more of a fact.”

“Why were you even out there chasing Kronya in the first place? And why was he there with you?”

“It’s a funny story, actually. We met at the bar, bonded over shared daddy issues, lied about our jobs, and then ended up running into each other at Kronya’s place. I mean talk about meant to be, right?” Byleth actually _laughs_ because now that she thinks about it, the entire experience was absolutely wild. “We flirted a bit, he encouraged me to take initiative and break some rules, and then we tried to kill each other because it turns out we were both trying to get to some chick who was already dead!” She wheezes, slapping her knee. 

Flayn reaches up and slaps the back of her head. “This is no time to laugh! What are you going to do now? You have a man tied to a chair in your living room! It’s only a matter of time before his friends come looking for him!”

The funny thing was, his friends were already looking for him. Not just your Average Joe friends either. These were highly trained government soldiers that his father was apparently the boss of. Thinking about it only makes Byleth laugh harder, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I have— I have absolutely no idea!” 

She hadn’t _planned_ on tranquilizing him. It was a spur of the moment decision, because she needed something to defend herself and she’d used all her knives and Felix had discarded her most easily accessible ones in a pat down that had turned her on a little. 

Then she saw him standing there all distracted and vulnerable, and she’d taken advantage of that, like she’d been trained to do. Once he’d passed out, she couldn’t leave him there. She was 89% sure that he’d figured out she was the one who killed Kleiman anyways, and she couldn’t have him blabbing, could she? 

Was it unplanned? Absolutely. Was it justified? Sort of. As an assassin, the lines for acceptable conduct were oftentimes blurred, and Byleth had never cared enough to define them. Why start now?

Byleth’s phone starts to ring, and she cringes when she sees the caller ID. “Flayn, did you telepathically call my dad and snitch on me?” She asks, waving the screen in front of her. “I thought we were friends.”

“I didn’t call him!” Flayn insists, and Byleth though Byleth believes her, she narrows her eyes anyways. “He’s Captain Jeralt, he knows everything!” 

That she certainly believes. Her father had contacts _everywhere._ It was part of the reason she’d never snuck out as a child. “Well, now I’m about to be suspended for real. I’ll be jobless, sad, and let’s face it, I’ll probably be wanted in Faerghus.” 

Byleth takes a deep breath in before hitting ‘answer’ and pressing the phone to her ear. “You’re interrupting my knitting, old man. I’m almost done knitting you this sunshine yellow scarf.”

_“Oh, are you now? Did you knit it before or after you disobeyed my orders, broke into my office, and went after Kronya?”_

Another reason she’d never been able to sneak out was because her father had an excellent bullshit detector.

“Dad, I know what you’re thinking,” she starts, her brain already working to condense the rollercoaster of a tale she’d told Flayn. “But I can explain—”

_“I know you didn’t do it. You’re stupid sometimes, but not that stupid.”_

She can’t find it in her to argue, because if not for Felix’s annoying intervention, this would have been a very different phone call. “Thanks…I think. Do you know who killed her then?”

 _“I think I do.”_ He pauses, as if he’s contemplating something. _“I’m taking you off leave. I need my best person on this.”_

Byleth grabs Flayn’s arm. “Really?” 

_“Unfortunately. Shamir and Catherine were my other option, but their assignment is taking longer than expected. You’re the only other one I can trust with this. Put your knitting needles away, By. You’re headed back out into the field.”_


	4. Somebody's Problem

_23rd of the Blue Sea Moon, 08:13_

_Central Fódlan, Business District_

__________

Ingrid liked to think she was good at her job.

It wasn’t just because she’d graduated top of her class at the Academy, or because she’d learned from the four older brothers who’d graduated before her. It wasn’t even because she’d been assigned to lead his Highness’ personal task force. It was because of how hard she’d fought for that position, one she’d gained after five years working to rise above those in her testosterone dominated workplace. She’d done it by simply following orders and sticking to protocol, like any good soldier should. 

Ingrid also liked to think that she was a reasonable leader. One who didn’t demand too much or allow for too little from those she led. In this case it was Felix and Sylvain, two people she’d known and loved since they were young. Together, they worked to ensure the safety of their royal friend. While Ingrid knew she held a great deal of responsibility to her king and country, she also held that responsibility to her friends. Being a good leader meant keeping all her people safe.

“I’m going to kill Felix,” she mutters, pacing back and forth in the lobby of their hotel. “All I ask is that he show up ten to seven, and he can’t even do that? Is this his way of getting back at me for yesterday?”

“Maybe he went home with that girl from the bar.” Sylvain pipes up from where he lounges, his feet up on the glass coffee table. Ingrid picks up a nearby magazine and uses it to swat at his ankles until he plants his feet back onto the floor. “After I encouraged him to do some...well, I would hardly call what he did flirting, but he did seem pretty keen on getting me out of there as quickly as possible.”

Ingrid presses her fingers against her temples, exhaling a harsh breath through her nose. “He went home with someone?” She expected this type of behaviour from Sylvain, but Felix? No, he would much rather pry his fingernails off one by one than entertain the likes of whatever girl Sylvain had set him up with.

“Right! I was pretty shocked too. Who could have guessed a girl like that would be into unbearable nihilism and a prickly personality?”

Ingrid doesn’t laugh with him, instead checking her phone. Her messages from Felix were still unread, and he hadn’t yet called her back. Admittedly not unusual behaviour from him, but she’d at least expected a single worded, passive aggressive response.

Across from Sylvain, Annette, who looks like she’d been sweating profusely, squeaks loudly. “Oh, okay, Ingrid, I have to tell you something...”

Oh _no._

“Felix asked me to pick him up from the bar and drive him to this scary apartment on the outskirts of the city. He got out of the car and told me to go on a drive,” she says in a single breath. “He told me not to circle back around until he called, and when he didn’t I assumed he went back on his own! It wouldn’t be the first time!”

She’s right, it wouldn’t have been the first time Felix had left a place without telling any of them. Especially if it were a place he wasn’t supposed to be. 

“Annette, you know he’s not allowed to go out without my supervision or act without my approval. Does nobody remember Morfis?” Ingrid definitely remembered it. The trip had come up various times in her departmentally mandated counselling sessions. 

“I’m really sorry, Ingrid! He said he really needed my help, and that’s like my kink.” Sylvain snorts at that, but Ingrid amusedly crosses her arms over her chest. As the only one he didn’t immediately have issues with, Annette has always been Felix’s go to when it came to sneaking around, and the girl loved the adventure of it all. Although this time around, she _does_ look sorry, and a little worried. “I really thought he’d just come back on his own, but now that he’s late…Oh goddess, did I kill Felix?!”

Ingrid _wishes_ she could fault Annette, but she wasn’t Felix’s boss. “You didn’t kill him, Annie, you’re fine. He’s a grown man that’s responsible for his own wellbeing. Just...ugh, he could at least answer his phone and tell us where he is!” She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to think of what to do now. They couldn’t get on the plane without Felix. “Let’s go to the apartment, see if we can pick up any leads. Annie, how far is it?”

“Can’t we just track his phone?” Sylvain suggests boredly. “You guys do it to me all the time.”

They _did_ do it to him all the time, didn’t they? Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Ingrid quickly opens up the appropriate app. All Lionguard under her supervision had their locations regularly updated and sent to her phone. “You couldn’t have reminded me of that before?”

He just shrugs, his feet already back up on the surface of the table. “I wasn’t concerned yet. Like I said, he’s probably just with a girl. He’s out there being somebody’s problem.”

If it involved Felix, somebody’s problem was still her problem. Ingrid rolls her eyes, and is about to select Felix’s ID number when Rodrigue’s contact flashes on her screen, and she’s sure her heart stops beating for a full five seconds before she answers. Did he already know she’d lost track of his son?

Ingrid can barely hear Rodrigue’s voice over the sound of her blood roaring in her ears, but two very specific things do cut through the noise. 

The name ‘ _Kronya’_ and the word ‘ _dead.’_

Just like that, Felix’s disappearance made a lot more sense. She felt stupid for not seeing it before. Of course he’d gone after her himself. Of course he’d gotten Annette to drive him. Of course he’d disobeyed her direct order to stand down.

Ingrid liked to think she was good at her job, but when it came to Felix? She’d never been more stressed.

~~~~~

Felix was stressed. 

He wasn’t exactly lax to begin with, but stress had been something he’d rarely allowed himself to experience. He simply didn’t put himself in those types of situations, and when he found himself in one it was typically due to something his friends had done, never him.

This, however, he’d regrettably done to himself. 

He’d been tied to a chair for goddess knows how many hours, his shoulders were sore, his hands were numb, and his head was pounding. All the while he’d been taunted by this headache of a woman, now forced to watch as she flitted around the apartment, pointedly ignoring him. The girl who’d come in - Flayn, he thinks - was the only one paying attention to him at present.

“You’ll have to forgive Byleth,” she insists, wringing a washcloth over a bowl of steaming water. “She can be a bit brash at times.” Lifting the damp cloth to his face, Felix instinctively flinches back, eying her warily. “I do not intend to harm you,” she says softly. “If I did, this cloth would be soaked in chloroform, not water!” She titters at her own joke, but when she realizes Felix isn’t laughing, the laugh dissipates and she frowns. “You have blood on your face, please allow me to remove it.”

He relaxes slightly, only granting her a huff of approval. She seemed sincere and non-threatening enough. He’d already been hoodwinked by one of them anyways, what was one more? The warm cloth presses into his skin, lifting dried blood that he’d forgotten about and turning the cloth pink. 

Across the room, he watches as Byleth looks through the scope of a sniper rifle, humming in quiet approval. She then unrolls a leather case containing a gleaming set of knives, taking one at random and holding it up to the light before selecting a few more and tucking them into various hidden straps on her limbs. It was as if some switch inside of her had clicked, and gone was her flippant, nonchalant personality, replaced with deep focus and a dark look in her eye. “What is she doing with those?” He asks, panic rising in his chest. 

Flayn turns back, unfazed by the weaponry. “Oh, don’t worry, those aren’t for you,” she giggles as if that’s supposed to comfort him. “She has another assignment. Nothing that concerns you.” 

“What are you doing?” He asks loudly, making Flayn flinch and drop the cloth. “Kronya is dead.” 

Byleth pauses her movements and almost looks surprised to see and hear him, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah, and as much as I wish that was my doing, I can’t take credit for it.” She tucks another pistol into the waistband of her jeans, easily concealing it under the hem of her bomber jacket. She looks so inconspicuous, like any other person worried about more mundane things like bills and groceries. “But I will kill the people who can. Our friend Kronya had a lot of enemies.” She picks up a silencer and slips it into her pocket. “What an amateur.”

“Don’t all assassins have enemies?” You can’t just kill someone and _not_ make enemies.

“Not the good ones,” she shrugs, idly twirling one of the knives between her fingers. “No, the good ones are untraceable. They can’t make me their enemy if they don’t know who I am.”

“I know who you are,” he points out, unable to keep himself from doing so.

She scoffs at that, gesturing to his bound hands. “And look how well that turned out for you. I’m untraceable for a reason.” Gripping the back of his chair, she tilts it back, her knife now pressed underneath his chin. “No one lives to hold a grudge against me.” She’s so close to him that he feels her breath on his cheek, making him shudder.

Flayn makes some kind of panicked noise. “Byleth, you cannot kill him!” 

“Oh, _I’m_ not going to,” Byleth laughs coldly. “Kronya killed him. When he went to confront her at the apartment, she stabbed him right here.” She presses the knife to his abdomen. “Right in the stomach, ouch. You’re smart so you kept the knife in to plug the wound, but you were too weak to get to the hospital. Tonight they’ll find you laying in some bushes, but they’ll be too late. You suffered from some major internal bleeding and ended up dying from sepsis due to the stomach acid leaking into your gut,” she pouts dramatically. 

It’s practiced and methodical, something she’d picked at random from the various lies he had a feeling she could spin. Felix doesn’t find an ounce of remorse in those chilling blue eyes. So different from the eyes that had lazily appraised him just an hour prior. “No one would ever buy that,” he lies through tightly clenched teeth. Everyone would definitely believe it. He’d gone out on his own and gotten himself killed. It was really only a matter of time.

What sort of lies would his father spew at his funeral? That he died in service of his king and country? He’d given his life to protect the greater good? That he and Glenn were in a better place, watching over them? He supposed anything sounded better than the truth; he was stupid, a little arrogant, and died alone. 

Byleth releases his chair, letting all four legs rest on the floor again. “They don’t have to believe it,” she says, tucking her knife away. “As long as it gets them off my trail, it doesn’t matter to me. Once you’re dead, you’re not my problem anymore.” 

Right, because he’d be Ingrid’s problem, along with Sylvain and Annette’s. When they arrived at the scene, Ingrid would curse his insubordination while Sylvain would say some dumb innuendo about being stuck with a pointy end. Then Annette would leak tears into his stab wound while she sobbed through the Stabbity Stab song.

Byleth steps out of his sight and Flayn follows, babbling about how she can’t possibly kill the grumpy man in the living room, but Felix doesn’t get his hopes up. He doubted her resolve could waver in the slightest. She was an assassin, killing her day job and as far as she was concerned, Felix was no different a target than Kleiman. Just another unlucky man who’d found himself in her crosshairs.

Insistent buzzing on the coffee table draws Felix out of his wallowing, and he squints down to see a recent message from Ingrid. 

**Ingrid Galatea**

_Coming to get you, please be decent._

For a second he’s confused, but the realization clicks and he almost laughs out loud. Of course Ingrid was coming to get him. She had his location on her phone. He’d never been so relieved to get a text from Ingrid.

The buzzing seems to have caught Byleth’s attention too, because she comes back with her brow raised. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s about to die. What’s with the smile, Blue?”

Huh, he hadn’t realized he was smiling. “Killing me won’t throw them off your trail. My friends know I’m here, or at least that I was.” 

The look on her face is absolutely priceless.

~~~~~

“What are you talking about?” Byleth demands. She hadn’t been followed last night, and she’d made sure to avoid the little red head he’d come with. No one could know where he was.

Felix nods his head towards his phone. That _stupid_ phone that had buzzed all night but that she’d been too tired to deal with. It’d been the least of her problems, after all.

“The location updates every hour, and it’s sent to our supervisor. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but my phone definitely does.” It’s definitely long enough for her to look involved. She wants to use his phone to wipe that smug but irritatingly attractive smirk off his lips.

“I live in a thirty storey apartment complex, it’d take them hours to find me,” she reasons although she’s mostly trying to convince herself. She lived in the penthouse, but he didn’t have to know that. Byleth had taken every precaution in bringing him here, rigging security cameras, distracting the doorman, and telling the people in the elevator that her friend had too much to drink and had fallen on his face. 

All that effort was about to be ruined by a _phone._

Byleth swipes it off the table and drops it onto the floor. She’s about to crush it under the heel of her boot when her intercom crackles.

 _“Greetings, Beth!”_ The doorman’s cheery voice greets. _“Three guests on their way up to see you!”_

She’d be lying if she claimed her face didn’t pale a little. Red knew what she looked like, and that doorman of hers was way too friendly and talked too much. 

“Fuck,” she curses, looking around. _Think, think, think,_ she repeats in her head. She was good at thinking on her feet, she had to be. _Sweep the apartment and get rid of anything incriminating, hide the body, and stick to the story._

What the hell was the story?

She bends over and picks up the phone, setting it on the dresser. Might as well think and work. “Flayn, get these in the closet,” she instructs, pointing to the small arsenal of weapons she'd laid out. “If it looks scary to you, make sure it’s out of sight.” Flayn looks less than enthusiastic, but does as she’s told. 

Byleth opens a nearby drawer and feels around until she finds a roll of duct tape, slipping it onto her wrist before turning and scowling at Felix, who looks amused at her stress. “I hate you,” she mutters, walking over and grabbing the washcloth from the bowl, wringing the water from it with one hand. 

“The feeling is mutual,” he retorts. Her other hand grabs his chin, her gloved fingers pushing into the hollows of his cheeks and forcing his mouth open. Byleth shoves the balled up cloth inside, pressing her hand over his mouth while she uses her teeth to tear a strip of tape off the roll. He glares at her as she seals it over his lips.

She grips the back of his chair and with great effort drags him across the floor and into the spare bedroom. Three quick rapts sound at her front door, and Byleth leans down to whisper in his ear. “Make a sound and I’ll kill your friends. I can and will do it.” 

She wouldn’t really, as they’d done nothing wrong to her, but to get her point across, she reaches behind her and pulls out her pistol, twisting the silencer on and flicking the safety off before tucking it back into her waistband and readjusting her jacket. 

As she turns to go, she can feel the heat from his glare burn holes in the back of her head, even when she closes the door. Byleth gestures for Flayn to move into the kitchen, and makes sure she’s out of sight before taking a deep breath. She checks her smile in the mirror before opening her front door halfway, the smile still plastered on her face. 

“Can I help you?” She asks brightly, annoyed by the sound of her own voice.

The blonde one - whose expression looks stiffer than her pantsuit - speaks first. “Good morning, I’m so sorry to bother you but we were wondering if our friend was here?” She tries to peek over Byleth’s shoulder.

Byleth blinks a few times, tilting her head to block her view. “I’m sorry, who is your friend?” 

“Felix,” Red speaks up, flashing her that same cocky grin from last night. “You met him at the bar. After you so viciously shot me down, of course. He’s about this tall, got dark hair, a permanent scowl, kind of sexy in that ‘could kill you with the flick of his wrist’ kind of way?” Byleth almost breaks her facade, biting her lip to keep from laughing as Blondie elbows Red in the side.

“Oh, yes, I remember him! But he isn’t here right now. How did you know where I live?” She questions innocently, turning the spotlight onto them as she leans against the doorframe. 

The small redhead speaks up, her voice just as bubbly as Byleth expected. “Please don’t think we’re weird, but we tracked his phone here and-” 

“And I could never forget a beautiful face like yours,” Red interrupts. “That doorman in the lobby pointed us up to the penthouse where the teal-haired beauty resides.”

Blondie looks as annoyed as Byleth feels. “Felix isn’t here though?”

Now was the time to craft her story. It didn’t have to be elaborate, it just had to make sense. “At the bar I gave him my number, and in the middle of the night, he asked me to come pick him up at this bus stop outside of town. I brought him back here and...well, you know,” she winks. Blondie and Mousey blush while Red whistles lowly, the sound accompanied by a small fist pump. “As soon as we - well, _he_ \- finished, he started getting ready to leave! Very un-gentlemanlike if you ask me. 

Blondie digs through her pants pocket, fishingout a handheld notebook and pulling a pen from her blazer. “Did he say anything about where he was headed?”

“I believe he was muttering something about going back to an apartment?”

“He went back there?” Mousey asks, wide-eyed. “Did he say why?”

Byleth can’t really think of why anyone would want to go back to that apartment, so she reaches over to the small dresser she keeps by the door, her fingers wrapping around the phone. “I’m not sure, but he was in a hurry and left this here. I was expecting him to come back for it but he hasn’t stopped by. When you find him, could you give it to him for me?” 

Blondie immediately swipes the phone out of her palm, scrolling through the unread notifications. “If you don’t know, then I suppose there’s no need for us to bother you any longer. Thank you miss…”

“Just Beth,” she smiles. The corners of her lips are sore from the effort of holding it in place, and she wishes they would just leave. “When you find Felix, can you send him my way? He left me a little high and dry last night.” Lies are always easier to tell when there’s a sliver of truth to it.

Red looks like he wants to say something, but Ingrid cuts him off. “We...will. Although, if you don’t mind me asking...are you alright?” Byleth doesn’t quite catch her meaning until she gestures to her neck. Byleth lifts her hand to her own neck, touching the bruises that Felix’s fingers had left the night before. She’d forgotten to change into a turtleneck.

“Oh,” she laughs, though it’s not as natural sounding as she would have liked. “Felix indulged me in a bit of a...preference of mine before he took off.” Again, not a complete lie.

The two women turn bright red, mumbling something Byleth doesn’t understand as Red laughs loudly. “That sounds like Felix alright. Anyways, we’re sorry to bother you, Beth.” He holds out a slip of paper, which Byleth takes. “Here’s my number. Give me a call if you hear from him, or if you’re ever left a little high and dry again.”

Byleth shuts the door before he can wink.

“Ugh, some people,” she groans, taking her own phone out of her pocket and checking the security feed from outside her door. Byleth makes sure the three musketeers are in the elevator before dragging Felix back out. “Guess I won’t be killing you today, Blue,” she sighs, tearing the tape off his mouth. 

He spits the cloth out, still glaring at her as he coughs. “Lucky me. That just means another day with you.”

Byleth decides to ignore that, pacing around her living room. “Flayn,” she calls into the kitchen. “Do you think you could stay here and watch him for a day or two while I go after the first mark? I’ll need to come back home before heading out to Leicester anyways. I’ll deal with him then.” 

Flayn comes out of the kitchen looking a little nervous. “Can you not just take him with you?”

“Why would I _ever_ take him with me?”

“The assignment will eventually take you into Faerghus,” she points out. “You’ll be looking into Cornelia, after all.” 

Byleth presses a finger over her lips. “Shhh!” she hushes, tilting her head towards Felix. “He of all people is not supposed to know that.”

It’s too late though, because Felix sits two feet away from them. “Cornelia as in Cornelia Arnim, the Faerghan Minister of Health?” Felix repeats incredulously. ‘What did she do?”

“I believe the woman who was rescued a few months ago described her as a ‘secretive psycho killer bitch’ that performed illegal experimentations on humans and played an integral role in the late King Lambert’s assassination plot,” Flayn hums, staring straight at Felix and ignoring Byleth’s warning glance. 

_“Flayn,”_ she hisses, grabbing her arm. “Are you trying to get us both fired? He’s part of the Lionguard and you’re talking about the Church putting a hit on one of the people he’s sworn to protect.”

“You don’t speak for me,” Felix huffs. “If she was part of the group that conspired to kill the king, then I hold no allegiances to her. I want in on whatever you’re planning.” 

Flayn gestures appreciatively at Felix, but Byleth just sits across from him, returning his fury-filled stare. “Why would you want to help me kill one of your people? And it isn’t just her, you know. People like Kronya and Kleiman are merely pawns in a much, much bigger game. There’s a whole network of them just laying low and waiting to sow chaos. Assassinations, unethical experimentation, uprisings, insurrections. It’s dark stuff. ”

How did Byleth know this? For starters, it was one of the biggest, most daunting assignments on the monastery roster. They’d all been waiting for Lady Rhea to give the go-ahead, and it seemed that Kronya’s death had been that final something that she’d needed to give the order. Who better to take a literal stab at it than Byleth? 

Felix shakes his head as much as he can with the rope around his neck. “That doesn’t scare me. I want in because they killed my brother.”

“Ah,” Byleth realizes, recalling the conversation at the bar. “The dead fiance is _your_ brother. So that was why you went after Kronya. You thought she killed someone that had information on the assassination.”

“...Yeah,” he admits looking away. It’s almost as if he’s embarassed to admit he still cares about his dead brother. 

“So you want justice for your brother?” Flayn asks curiously, her eyes shining with tears. She’d always had such a soft heart. Byleth can’t help but chuckle at that. Justice for one by killing so many?

“Justice is for those blinded by the idea of righteousness in the world,” he scoffs, and Byleth lifts a brow, subtly shocked to hear an answer she could get on board with. “I just want to kill whoever is responsible, and if you’re going through Faerghus, you’ll need me.” 

Thinking about it, having another body for people to shoot at or chase wasn’t a bad idea. 

Byleth silently stands, moving behind him using one of her knives to slice through the rope and free him from the chair. “First things first,” she starts as he rubs his wrists. “We need to get your friends off your ass.” Byleth removes her glove, holding her hand out for him to shake. “This is a business deal, nothing more. I _might_ save your life if it comes down to it, but if you ever double-cross me, I will take another hypothetical knife and shove it into the base of your skull. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” he says dryly, gripping her hand as that annoyingly hot smirk returns with the curl of his lip. “And now that I’m not tied up, I’d like to see you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Ingrid's idiot radar goes off and she senses that Felix has gotten himself into something.


	5. Better on My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Felix go on their first mission together. It goes about as well as one might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me forever to write for some reason???

_23rd of the Blue Sea Moon, 10:05_

_Central Fódlan, Business District_

_______

“Flayn, why are you feeding the enemy with food that I paid for? Produce isn’t cheap,” Byleth huffs, eying the half chopped bell pepper on her counter. “I also don’t recall giving you permission to defile my kitchen with your archaic methods.”

Tucking the file under her arm and towelling off her wet hair, she watches as Flayn lays what looks like is supposed to be an omelette on a plate in front of Felix, who grimaces into his mug. 

“I’m just making you both breakfast! It is the most important meal of the day, after all. I was going to make pancakes, but Felix said that he doesn’t like sweet things.”

Byleth quirks a brow at the man sitting at _her_ table, drinking _her_ coffee from _her_ mug. “Are you allergic to sugar, or just joy in general?” 

Amber eyes narrow over the rim of the mug. “Are you allergic to the entire spectre of human emotion?”

Byleth blinks at him a few times, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. “Wow. That was mean, hurtful, and completely true.” As reward, she tosses the file onto the table and claims the seat across from him. “Here, read this so I don’t have to explain myself a dozen times.”

She half expects him not to just to spite her, but his curiosity must win out in the end. As he skims through, Byleth boredly picks through the clump of eggs, plucking out pieces of eggshell and flicking them onto the table. 

“Didn’t know the Church kept track of these sorts of things,” he mutters across from her. “The rest of Fódlan thinks you’re all holier-than-thou pacifists. Turns out you’re just holier-than-thou assholes.”

Holier-than-thou assholes. Byleth makes a note to have that engraved on a plaque that she’ll hang in the weight room. “Why, are you religious? Doth mine sinful actions taint the pure waters of your virgin beliefs?”

“I’m not religious. I just didn’t expect it.”

A believable truth. As far as Byleth was concerned, the Church of Seiros and all its holy proceedings were but a front, flawlessly put on by Lady Rhea to turn away the slightest suspicion. The sheer amount of activity that occurred during weekly mass was proof enough that no one was the wiser to their beloved church’s more sinister...beliefs.

The choir didn’t know that the hymn board actually consisted of times and dates. Eager church-goers didn’t know that the titles of said hymns were part of a code, or that Byleth would go to the bathroom to spit the communal bread out and peel it apart to reveal a message or two. 

It was a façade so carefully and meticulously crafted that Byleth could kill two or three lower-level marks by dinner, and no one would ever suspect the Holy Church of Seiros for a thing. “Yeah, that’s part of the reason why I’ve operated undetected for so long.” 

Felix hums in what she guesses is half-hearted agreement and proceeds to ignore her, oddly invested in the file in a manner Byleth had never been. Why read when you can go out and learn about them yourself?

Byleth places an elbow on the table and rests her chin atop the palm of her hand as she watches him read. Even if he was nice to look at in the afternoon sun, he was really quite boring when he wasn’t trying to kill her. “Are you done yet? We’re burning daylight, and we still have to pay your friends a visit.” 

“Why can’t I tell them what we’re doing?”

“If you tell them, they’ll most likely insist on helping and whatnot, and most definitely get themselves killed in the process.” Byleth was hardly sure she would get this done with Felix, and he was only one person. Add on three more? The task would be nearly impossible, because if Byleth had one weakness, it was working on a team.

That was the thing with having friends. They always got in the way. 

And if accidentally getting one member of the Lionguard killed would get her in some serious shit, Byleth didn’t even want to imagine the consequences of losing four. 

When a look of uncertainty flashes across his face, Byleth tilts her head at him. “Do you have a problem with lying to them?”

Felix doesn’t answer, opting instead to shut the file and slide it across the table to her. He then picks up his mug, downs the remainder of his coffee. Somewhat intrigued by such a mundane action, Byleth can’t help but notice the movement of his throat, peeking out from behind his turtleneck. Felix had a nice neck, and as he tips his head back, she admires the way his tendons are pulled taunt against his skin, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each movement.

Grab, bite, kiss, slit, her mind just couldn’t decide what she wanted to do with it, and it was equal parts intriguing and infuriating. 

He rises promptly, startling Flayn with his burst of movement. “Well?” He demands when he notices her staring. “Let’s go.”

Working to swallow the lump in her own throat and ignoring the dryness that had overtaken her mouth, Byleth can only nod. 

**~~~~~**

When Felix was five, he was scared of the monsters under his bed. Even if the monster was Glenn, who would lie under his bed for hours to grab at his ankles. When he was fifteen, he was scared of failing math, because well, who wasn’t scared of failing math? When he was twenty, he was afraid of ending up like Glenn. 

As the years had gone on, he wasn’t scared of stupid things like grades anymore, and he’d long accepted that he’d die on the job sooner or later. Now, at the age of twenty-five, Felix was scared of one thing and one thing only. 

As soon as he gets out of the car, the door to the hotel is thrown wide open, and out stomps his single fear, red-faced and thirsting for his blood. 

In the driver’s seat, Byleth slides her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, so obviously trying to stifle a laugh at his expense. 

“Good luck with that,” she chuckles before he slams the door shut. He didn’t need luck, he had a bulletproof vest.

One that proves useful when Ingrid’s fist flies into his abdomen, which is still sore from last night. For someone so small, she sure knew how to throw her weight behind a blow. 

“Where the _hell_ have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

Somehow he doubts that. From where he’s doubled over, he can see Sylvain and Annette playing some sort of hand game. Annette flips her hands up and from where they hover underneath Sylvain’s palms, smacking the backs of his hands three times in a row. 

Felix winces at his friend’s insufferably slow reflexes.“I’ve been busy,” he excuses lamely.

Still glaring, she grabs his face in her hand, turning it from side to side and inspecting all angles as one would a block of meat. “Were you in a fight or something? I swear, you’re out of my sight for one night—”

He pries her hands from his face. “I’m fine. I just came to tell you that I’ll be staying for a few days.”

 _“Staying?_ What do you mean by ‘staying?’” She questions sharply, though her way of asking always felt more like the warning before she decked him in the jaw.

“Just for a few days. You guys can go home without me, I’ll just meet you back here for the Rite.”

He’s already turning away when Ingrid grabs the back of his collar. “No. You’re coming home right now.”

Huffing, he turns to face her. “You’re not my mom.” If she were anyone else, he would have just walked away, but there’s a small part of him acknowledging that Ingrid deserves more than that. 

“If you’re going to act like a child I might as well be,” she scoffs, tightening her grip so he can’t run off. She tries to look around him at Byleth, but Felix uses his body to block her view. The last thing he needs is Ingrid assuming that he’s staying for a woman. He’d never hear the end of it, and the comparison to Sylvain would be inevitable.

“I have to do something important,” he tries, even thoughts knows that Ingrid thinks _everything_ about their job is important. “Sorry,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Not buying it, sharp green eyes narrow warily. “What’s more important than going home and doing our job?”

“This is,” he answers stubbornly.

Her grip on his collar slacks, but barely. “What is?”

Felix stays silent for longer than he typically prefers. “I...can’t say.”

Ingrid’s left eye twitches, nostrils flaring as she takes a deep breath. If she was mad before, she was pissed now. “You can’t say, or you just won’t?”

Well and truly annoyed at the interrogation, Felix bats her hand off of him. “Can’t you just trust me for once in your life?”

“I do trust you, but you make stupid decisions that are going to get you killed! Just like—”

Sylvain chooses the right moment to butt in, placing his hand on Ingrid’s shoulder and gently pulling her backwards. “Hey, let me try to talk some sense into him.”

Still glaring at him, she releases a harsh breath through her nose. “Fat chance of that,” she mutters, but steps aside and thrusts her index finger into his chest. “You’re coming home, end of discussion,” she growls before stalking back to Annette. 

Whistling lowly, Sylvain turns to watch her go before looking back at Felix. “You really pissed her off.”

He had, but what was new about that? Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms over his chest. “No shit.” 

Brown eyes that are shrewder then Felix gives them credit for assess him carefully before Sylvain sighs, rubbing his forehead. “It’s really important? This secret thing you’re so hellbent on doing?”

“Yes.” He honestly wasn’t sure what exactly he’d gotten himself into, but he had to see it through now. For Glenn.

“And you swear you’ll come back in one piece?”

“I will.” If the dagger throwing menace didn’t kill him or get him killed, that was.

Pausing, Sylvain looks over his shoulder at the girls. “Okay then. You go - I’ll talk Ingrid down, but you’ll have to punch me in the face.”

That gives Felix pause. He didn’t necessarily have a problem with it, but the simple offer of a free swing startled him. “I— What?”

Sylvain beckons him, popping his neck twice as he shifts into a relatively steady stance. “So that it looks like we fought and had words. So it looks like I didn’t just _let_ you leave. Come on, do it while Ingrid is still watching. I know it’s hard to hurt someone you care about but just don’t hit me too—”

Without another second of hesitation - in the interest of making sure Ingrid is still watching, obviously - Felix’s fist acts on its own accord, flying right into the centre of Sylvain’s face, feeling the bones of his friend’s nose crack under his knuckles. 

_“Sweet Sothis and all things holy!”_ Sylvain swears, staggering back.

“Huh,” Felix chuckles, shaking out his hand as Sylvain cradles his bleeding nose. “I thought that’d be harder to do. You alright?”

Groaning loudly, the dark look in his friend’s eye make him wonder if he’ll punch back, but Sylvain ultimately waves him off. “Just get out of here before Ingrid really kills you.”

 _“What the hell, Felix?”_

Dead he would be if he didn’t get out of there soon. 

“I can’t believe you punched Red in the face!” Byleth exclaims when he yanks the car door open, slipping back into the passenger seat. Looking out the window, he can see Annette shoving tissues up Sylvain’s nostrils while Ingrid glares heatedly in his direction. 

“Drive,” he orders.

She doesn’t oblige right away. “Does your hand hurt?” She questions when he removes his glove, inspecting the light bruise already forming atop the bumps of his knuckles. It’d been a while since he punched someone. “Next time, make sure you leave your thumb outside your fist to avoid bone damage.”

“I know how to punch someone,” he mutters, pulling his glove back on gingerly laying his hand over his knee.

“You’re a lot cooler than I thought,” Byleth hums, as if she’s now reevaluating her opinion of him.

“Just drive,” is all he says, averting his gaze away from Ingrid’s and staring at the road ahead. He certainly didn’t feel cool for lying to his friends, but there _was_ something very satisfying about socking Sylvain in the face. He’d consider it payback for the insufferable years of teasing. 

But as Byleth pulls off the curb and peels away, even Felix can’t deny the tug of gratitude on his heart. It was just like Sylvain to always be fooling around, but _always_ showing up when he needed to.

**~~~~~**

The drive to Remire was only two hours, but sharing it with Felix made the journey seem like a lifetime. He didn’t talk to her at all, dodging all attempts at conversation like the knives she’d thrown at him, opting instead to silently glower out the window and watch the passing trees.

She wasn’t much of a conversationalist herself, but there was something inexplicably interesting about the people Felix surrounded himself with. There was obviously some deep rooted history between him and his friends, otherwise they wouldn’t argue the way they did. There was something that bound them together, even if it seemed like they wanted to tear each other apart. 

Byleth didn’t have much experience with things like that. She worked alone, and always had. It was better that way, and much easier. It was clean, efficient, and simple. She could move about Fódlan at the drop of a hat, doing whatever she wanted whenever she so pleased. Everything was done at breakneck speed, because she had nothing - and no one - to slow her down.

But now she had Felix, and all that came with him. 

She still had so many questions. How long had he been at the job? Where was he trained? What was he trained in? How good of a shot was he? Could he really have killed her that night? How many people had he killed?

She opens her mouth to ask, but Felix’s harsh voice beats her to it.

“No more talking. Just drive.”

**~~~~~**

Felix didn’t like the woods. They reminded him too much of his childhood home, way up in northern Faerghus where there were more trees than people. 

He didn’t like his home either, so he didn’t appreciate being reminded of it. It was only a matter of time before driving through the winding dirt roads on the outskirts of Remire would put him in a relatively shitty headspace.

Not to mention his travelling companion, who every so often looked she wanted to say something to him. Nothing was more mind-numbing than small talk during a road trip. What was next, would she start singing about bottles of beer on the wall? 

But not talking meant that she was filling the silences herself. The sound of her ring tapping repeatedly against the steering wheel, the thrum of her fingers atop the armrest, her non-stop humming. 

“Stop,” Felix groans when her ring begins tapping against the steering wheel again. A headache is beginning to form behind his temples. “You’re being annoying.”

She doesn’t stop. In fact, her tapping becomes more rapid, the sound it’s producing nearly akin to the sound of rain atop a car roof. “That’s not very nice,” she frowns.

“Well I’m not a nice person,” he snaps, and frankly, he isn’t a very patient one either. “How much longer do I have to be in this car with you?”

“Fortunately for you, it won’t be much longer. Look.” 

The tapping stops when she lifts her hand to point ahead of them. Felix’s gaze follows, landing upon a cabin breaking through the sea of evergreen. She maneuvers the car into a densely wooded alcove so they’re mostly hidden from sight, shutting off the engine and killing the headlights. 

Byleth pats herself down, most likely to wake the daggers he knows she’s carrying before opening her door and jumping out. “I’m going to scout the area, see if our friend Solon is home. Stay right here.” she orders, slipping on her own pair of black gloves. “And please, don’t get yourself killed. If what I heard from my father is right, then this is the guy that killed our mutual friend, Kronya.”

She takes off without further explanation, kicking the door shut as she goes.

While she’s gone, Felix does his own self inventory. He re-straps his vest, counts the remaining rounds in his gun, loosens the knot of his tie, and tightens his hair tie. Idleness forces him to go through the motions again. 

In the three minutes he’d taken to do those things, she still hasn’t returned. Felix slumps in his seat. He’d never been one to sit and wait, mostly because his body didn’t house the patience to do so. 

With the Lionguard, it was often he or Ingrid who went out and did recon, always leaving Sylvain behind to drive the getaway car or provide backup if necessary. 

Was he Sylvain in this situation? 

His body tenses when the driver’s door opens again, and Byleth tosses a pair of binoculars he didn’t know she had into his lap as she clambers back into her seat. “He’s not home,” she reports, reaching across his knees to open the glovebox.

“Now what?” 

Her hand rifles through the disturbing assortment of ammunition clips and fashion magazines until she finds a black silk sleep mask, slipping it on so it rests atop her forehead. “You’re taking a _nap?”_

“Yeah, I was up all night because of you, and not in the fun way. It’ll also be easier to sneak in when it’s dark, and I’m not staying up until then.” She reaches behind her seat and retrieves a bottle of water, holding it out in offering. “Flayn told me to make sure you stay hydrated. You’re going to take the first watch.” 

It’s a well known fact that Felix Hugo Fraldarius didn’t take orders from most people, especially not assassins who have tried one too many times to kill him. “When was that decided?”

“Since I decided it. This isn’t a democracy.” She shoves the bottle of water into his chest. Slipping the mask over her eyes, she settles back into her seat with a yawn. “Wake me if something happens.”

When he realizes that arguing is no longer a possibility, a sigh rumbles from a place deep within his chest, laced with all the stress and impatience that’s been building since their first run-in at the apartment. 

Felix uncaps the bottle of water, braving a tentative sip. He swallows, then waits a few moments. No sudden lightheadedness or general signs of sedation or effect of poison. For all he knows, she could have been out digging his grave and drove him all the way out here to kill him.

However, this is just water. Though that doesn’t mean he fully trusts her yet. 

Felix tips the bottle back, taking a few larger gulps when he realizes how thirsty he is. 

Byleth shifts beside him, and out of the corner of his eye he watches her pull the mask up a half inch, just enough for her right eye to observe him.

“What?” He demands, the harshness of his voice masking the sudden bout of insecurity as he takes another sip of water.

Then, with casualty akin to asking what he wants for lunch, she clears her throat and asks, “Do you want to have sex?” 

The water gets stuck in his throat, and who could blame Felix for choking, spewing water all over the dash?

She doesn’t at all look fazed by his reaction, a brow raised as he hacks up a lung, his eyes watering. “Do I want to have _what?”_

“Sex. We’re going to be here for a while, anyways.”

He’s certain that he’s gone red all over at the mere mention of the word, heat burning in his cheeks as he sputters up the remains of his water. “Why would I— would we— No!” 

She stares at him for a moment, a bemused smile dancing across pretty pink lips—

 _Normal_ lips, Felix quickly corrects himself, turning away to stare out the window and hide his embarrassment. 

He can _hear_ the smirk on her lips as she laughs at him. “Alright then. Your loss.”

**~~~~~**

_23rd of the Blue Sea Moon, 20:42_

_Adrestia, Remire Outskirts_

_______

It’s dark by the time Solon returns, and Byleth rightfully decides that the nighttime provides the perfect cover for them to slowly creep over to what any passerby would consider an inconspicuous log cabin. 

Felix can’t deny that dusk adds an extra element of anticipation to the mission. The dark woods are full of nocturnal sounds, making him feel uneasy and a little disoriented. 

Even Byleth seems on edge, head around swinging at each distant snap of a twig. Flashlights were too risky at this time of the night, and following the narrow strip of naked earth is proving difficult as they stumble over exposed tree roots.

Just reaching the cabin in one piece is an achievement in its own. Taking care to avoid the amber glow of firelight streaming through the windows, the two of them stand on either sides, pressing their backs against the wall. Byleth gestures for him to crouch, which he does. 

“Two exits,” she whispers in a voice so low that he can just barely hear. “One right there,” she points, and Felix sees the front door a few feet behind him. “And one just around the corner, you can’t miss it. All the windows on the ground floor are locked, but there’s a basement window on the other side of the cabin that I think I can wiggle through.”

Felix joins her as she rises, the two of them just barely peeking over the edge of the cloudy glass window. 

A gnarled looking old man sits atop a small stool in front of the fireplace, a book in hand. His great hair is combed back into the collar of his dark robes. His ghastly appearance alone is enough to cause a chill to run down Felix’s spine 

The cabin definitely acts as some sort of hideout, stripped to the bare bones of necessity. A worn and patched up loveseat, a single, moth-eaten recliner, a sad looking bookshelf, and a rickety looking table are all that inhabit the space.

“You stay here and be my lookout or something,” Byleth instructs. “Don’t get caught. Last time I ran into this guy unprepared, I was lightly tortured. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Felix is about to argue, but the idea of torture is enough to make him hesitate, if only in the slightest. “He tortured you?”

“ _Lightly_ tortured,” she emphasizes. “Broke a few fingers, lost some fingernails.”

“That’s _light_ torture?”

“Bones heal, fingernails grow back,” she shrugs. 

“You’re pretty fucked up, you know that?”

“The best of us often are,” she grins, grasping his shoulder tightly. “Now stay here, and don’t you dare fire your gun unless absolutely necessary. We don’t want his buddies tracing his death back to the Lionguard, do we?” She pulls a long, needlelike silver dagger from her boot. “I’ll take care of this the old fashioned way.”

Again left with no room to argue, she slips around the side of the cabin, leaving Felix alone at the window. He’s once more been sidelined, forced to watch the action from the outside. 

He’s starting to realize that it must really suck to be Sylvain.

Would Felix volunteer to take his place on their next mission, though? Absolutely not. He thrived in the face of a challenge. He loved the way that the excitement pumped throughout his veins with each strong beat of his heart. Even if it made his head spin and muscles cry for relaxation, Felix craved the high. If adrenaline was a drug, he would be addicted.

He’s bitter about the gross misuse of his presence in this particular situation, but the least he could do was keep a proper lookout for any signs of danger. Crossing his fingers, he kind of hoped that he would have the chance to save her, just for the spite of it all. A gentle reminder to prove that she _did_ need him, and that he was more than just some lookout.

Through the window, Felix can see that Solon is still largely engrossed in his book. He’s delved so deep into it that he doesn’t notice the lithe figure slinking through the shadows of the cabin. Felix has no idea how she’d managed to sneak inside and out of the basement so quickly, and the second that the silver dagger curled in her fist catches a ray of moonlight, his mind empties and his heart begins pumping faster. 

He hates to admit it, but as annoying as this assassin may be, there’s something undeniably mesmerizing about the way she works. Each footfall is soundless, her focus absolute as she shifts her body back and forth as to not cast any shadows. She easily molds herself to fit behind the bookshelf, then to crouch behind the recliner, and finally, takes a solid stance behind Solon. Felix holds his breath as her dagger is raised, ready to plunge into the neck of her target. 

She leans forward to make her move, and the floorboard beneath her left foot creaks loudly. 

In one swift motion, the book falls to the ground, and Solon is on his feet, swinging around to reveal a pistol in his hand. Byleth immediately throws herself to the side, twisting to barely avoid the bullet and landing roughly on the floor. Though the stoic look on her face remains unchanging, Felix can tell that she’s winded, and takes a second too long to get up off the floor. 

So she uses her feet instead, kicking her leg out to knock the gun out of her opponents hand, sending it flying somewhere across the cabin. With reflexes that Felix doesn’t expect, Solon catches her wrist as she thrusts it forward, forcing it around so it’s driving towards the base of her throat. She’s strong enough to fight back, but on the floor, gravity is working against her and she’s at a disadvantage.

Enough is enough, Felix decides then. As soon as he stands, her eyes detect his movement and widen as she shakes her head no.

Felix, of course, chooses not to listen and makes a break for the front door, the heel of his boot easily rendering the lock useless as it flies open, attracting their opponent’s attention. Ignoring her earlier instructions, Felix raises his own pistol, the next round meant for the man’s forehead. Byleth curses loudly, and she shoves the man off of her at the last second, and in a panicked attempt to avoid killing her, Felix’s arm drops a couple inches as his finger squeezes the trigger. 

The next curse that falls from her lips is most definitely directed towards him, a fact that Felix is sure of when the bullet grazes her arm, cutting clean through the material of her jacket and inflicting a deep wound upon the flesh of her upper arm.

Felix winces when she glares down at the blood flowing down her arm, clearly stunned.

Oops. He’d definitely pay for that later.

Solon takes the opportunity to rush out the back door, a growling Byleth running out after him with Felix hot on her heels. They’re too late though, because their target has already slipped away into the woods. It would be impossible to track him now, the cover of the night that they’d waited for now working against them.

“Shit!” Byleth cries out, dropping the dagger in favour of clutching at the wound, as if she’d just remembered it was there. He isn’t sure if her shouting is in pain or frustration, but either way the sentiment is shared. “I can’t believe you shot me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Sylvain wonders why Felix was so quick to punch him, and is hurt more by the lack of hesitation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope enjoyed, and that you have a wonderful day!


End file.
